My past suffering shapes my perspective on the current realities present in my life and ministry. As I filter through my past, there is one milestone I would describe as life-changing suffering. My mother passed away when I was fifteen after a four-year battle with cancer.
As a teenager, I didn’t know my mother without knowing her suffering. As a result, things like the common cold or flu were no longer acceptable reasons to complain in my mind. It was almost as if I couldn’t be sick enough to justify staying home from school, church, or any other obligation. No one told me this, but witnessing my mother’s illness caused me to reevaluate the things I thought were worthy of complaint. As miserable as I am, there is someone more miserable than me was the thought running through my head. Suddenly my pain, heartache, and suffering took a permanent backseat to the pain, heartache, and suffering of the world around me.
Part of this was a healthy awareness that drew me away from a self-absorbed, adolescent state of mind. On the other hand, I was left with an unhealthy ability to ignore myself for the sake of others. Not addressing the suffering inside myself taught me the invaluable lesson that intentional ignorance of self only results in more suffering. My perspective on the existence of suffering and how to address suffering in a healthy way was shaped by my mother’s suffering, the suffering of those who loved her, and my suffering as a result of losing her at a young age.
The present suffering in my life shapes my internal climate. It shapes the stability of the emotional and spiritual platform I operate from as a leader. One of the consequences of having past suffering in my life is that I have lived through what happens when suffering is left unresolved. Unresolved suffering does not remain dormant. It expresses itself in uncontrolled, irrational, and reactionary ways. As a teenager I experienced this through different forms of self-mutilation. As a leader I experience this when, instead of exemplifying a Christian response to a current situation, I react without thinking.
Essentially, anything that is a part of the leader becomes a part of that person’s leadership. Recognizing this encourages me to work toward resolving suffering inside myself because I don’t want to operate from an unstable and unpredictable internal platform.
Future suffering is the anticipated suffering. I’m not addressing future or anticipated suffering because I want to suffer. However, as someone constantly working toward resolving suffering inside myself, I acknowledge that I am naturally preparing for a new season of suffering. When we open ourselves to deal with what has happened and what is happening in our lives, we allow God to prepare us for what will happen.
As a result of my personal approach to suffering, when I recognize that one of my kids is experiencing a form of suffering or when the community is experiencing suffering, I approach the situation much differently than I would otherwise. First, I don’t ignore it, and I don’t let anyone else ignore it. Period.
Second, I am intentional about articulating the importance of accepting suffering in one’s own life and for the members of the community to support one another in accepting their suffering. What I commonly run into with my kids when they are suffering is what I said when I was a suffering teenager: “It’s not that bad. Really, it could be worse. Someone somewhere has it worse than I do.” The truth is, that is an unhealthy and hypocritical state of mind to live in, or to believe is acceptable.
Third, I take the time to discuss issues of death, suicide, mourning, transition, and other situations that bring about feelings that could be marked as suffering. I want them to know that God didn’t ignore it, neither should they, and neither will we.
Taking the time to address suffering as people, as leaders, and as ministry communities can be overwhelming, difficult, and scary. I encourage you to try it anyway. Why? Because it’s godly, healing, and loving. I promise.
Part of this was a healthy awareness that drew me away from a self-absorbed, adolescent state of mind. On the other hand, I was left with an unhealthy ability to ignore myself for the sake of others. Not addressing the suffering inside myself taught me the invaluable lesson that intentional ignorance of self only results in more suffering. My perspective on the existence of suffering and how to address suffering in a healthy way was shaped by my mother’s suffering, the suffering of those who loved her, and my suffering as a result of losing her at a young age.
The present suffering in my life shapes my internal climate. It shapes the stability of the emotional and spiritual platform I operate from as a leader. One of the consequences of having past suffering in my life is that I have lived through what happens when suffering is left unresolved. Unresolved suffering does not remain dormant. It expresses itself in uncontrolled, irrational, and reactionary ways. As a teenager I experienced this through different forms of self-mutilation. As a leader I experience this when, instead of exemplifying a Christian response to a current situation, I react without thinking.
Essentially, anything that is a part of the leader becomes a part of that person’s leadership. Recognizing this encourages me to work toward resolving suffering inside myself because I don’t want to operate from an unstable and unpredictable internal platform.
Future suffering is the anticipated suffering. I’m not addressing future or anticipated suffering because I want to suffer. However, as someone constantly working toward resolving suffering inside myself, I acknowledge that I am naturally preparing for a new season of suffering. When we open ourselves to deal with what has happened and what is happening in our lives, we allow God to prepare us for what will happen.
As a result of my personal approach to suffering, when I recognize that one of my kids is experiencing a form of suffering or when the community is experiencing suffering, I approach the situation much differently than I would otherwise. First, I don’t ignore it, and I don’t let anyone else ignore it. Period.
Second, I am intentional about articulating the importance of accepting suffering in one’s own life and for the members of the community to support one another in accepting their suffering. What I commonly run into with my kids when they are suffering is what I said when I was a suffering teenager: “It’s not that bad. Really, it could be worse. Someone somewhere has it worse than I do.” The truth is, that is an unhealthy and hypocritical state of mind to live in, or to believe is acceptable.
Third, I take the time to discuss issues of death, suicide, mourning, transition, and other situations that bring about feelings that could be marked as suffering. I want them to know that God didn’t ignore it, neither should they, and neither will we.
Taking the time to address suffering as people, as leaders, and as ministry communities can be overwhelming, difficult, and scary. I encourage you to try it anyway. Why? Because it’s godly, healing, and loving. I promise.
In a previous church, within six months, my evaluation went from “exceeding expectations” to “if things don’t change, we’ll have to find someone else.” When I asked, I was given no direction about the changes needed, so I had the sinking feeling I was on borrowed time. Sure enough, several months later, I was asked to resign.
Being fired was one of the best things to happen to my career.
In the time it took me to move from a performance-based evaluation to being let go, I plumbed the depths of my calling. It was a painful, frustrating, and rewarding experience. I got back in touch with the reasons I began working with young adults. Never had I intended to work at the church of what’s happening now or to build the best programs or to have the biggest events.
Inside of all this soul searching, I found out something about myself. My passion lies in awakening possibilities in teens and in those who work with them. If I’m not doing that, what’s the point?
As I pondered the many new opportunities from my previous church’s outplacement service, I began to build a new way of doing youth ministry that fed my soul. It wasn’t that programs were bad; they just weren’t necessary if I was doing the things I loved.
Reading through the gospels, I realized that there are few—if any—stories about people being changed from sermons. More the norm was a transformation that grew out of a personal encounter with Jesus in the context of a small group or one-on-one encounter. Why was I spending so much of my time working on a broadcast message when it was the less effective method? Presentations took a back seat to building real relationships.
At the same time, God was working on my perspective of the gospel. A friend put new thoughts in my head when he told me, “What you save them with is what you save them to.” If I bring teens into the church through attractional, bait-and-switch methods, they have little grounding in the actual good news of Christ. My understanding of the gospel moved toward a personal message that confronts specific pains in our lives instead of a ticket through the pearly gates.
As I solidified these paradigm shifts in my life and ministry, a new person emerged. Previously in the interviewing process, I researched churches and figured out what I thought they wanted. Now I shamelessly went in and told them who I was and what I was about. I was absolutely convinced of the kind of work I should be doing. After I was hired, I sought the lead pastor and told him my problems instead of waiting to be called in.
The effort I spent in ministry became more focused and concrete as well. Instead of spending 80% of my time finding a better ice breaker, I developed deep bonds with teenagers. At some point, I stopped preparing and started doing. My time with students became more dynamic instead of a static, one-sided meeting. Surprisingly, more and more of my time went into prayer and personal development. It made me more effective.
All of the suffering I went through changed me. It made me a passionately focused agent of change for youth and their families. As I look back through these times of hardship, I know God used them to sharpen me into a better instrument for his kingdom. Suffering is the best gift I have received from Jesus. It makes me more like him.
Like a lot of fellow youth workers, I traded a business cubicle for a youth ministry office. Wide-eyed and overly optimistic Kristen and I longed for a career revolving around our faith and family while impacting the lives of teenagers.
And in ten years of working in the local church, our lives certainly revolved around our faith, family, and impacting the lives of teenagers. Some of our proudest moments have come in seeing that growth through the long haul. There have been so many times when I’ve grabbed Kristen and said, “This is so worth it!”
Conversely, I can’t tell you how many times I wished I could have traded in my pastoral role for my old corporate job. Yes, that career was unfulfilling. Yes, the longer I did it, the more bored I was. But at least it didn’t hurt so bad. When I was betrayed, I could speak up. When I was wronged, I could relay my issue to a human resources professional. And when I failed, I could deal with being passed over for a promotion or a raise. Sitting in a small group of my peers, I could talk about my job sucking or my boss being a jerk and get empathy from people in similar situations.
But in ministry the stakes are so much more personal. And it’s a very private struggle. The isolation and lack of camaraderie are ultimately what hurt the most. All too often when you reach out with a struggle, you are rebuked or even belittled. At least for me, this meant I carried a lot of burdens. Suffering became part of my ministry.
In truth, this personal suffering was enough. I understood it as part of the calling. But what caused unnecessary suffering was the impact of my vocation on my family. My wife couldn’t just be a wife and new mother. She had to carry the mantle of pastor’s wife and receive unlimited and unwanted advice from the hens of the church. When our kids misbehaved, we felt the judgment from fellow congregants.
Early in my ministry, I allowed the weight of suffering to shape my attitude and self-image. If I were made of Play-Doh, my body would have been flattened. But, as I’ve gotten stronger, more used to the weight and its impact, I’ve learned that there is a healthy suffering that just comes with being a follower of Christ, which I can deal with.
But, there is also abuse that comes my way that I no longer permit to have the impact it once did. I’ve become like a junkyard dog in protecting my family and the families of my ministry friends. That’s the weight of ministry I no longer allow to shape them.
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