In
the early days of college and first pastoring, the painful truth was, on the
outside, I was righteous and moral, but my center was wrong. I was doing good
things from a bad motive, the self-motive. In our culture, sins of the flesh
like lust, appetite or greed are obvious sins Christians can openly reject. But
hidden sins go unnoticed. My sins were those of inward character: pride,
self-righteousness, prejudice, aloofness. These faults I could hide. And
something like pride is easily overlooked by the masses. Maybe this is one of
the reasons Jesus commented on one occasion that the publicans and harlots
could get into the kingdom of God easier than the prideful, religious rich Pharisee.
Over
time, other influential voices said I needed to go to Seminary where the
genuine theologians taught deeper meanings of Christ’s love and plan. Because I
felt so established where I was in a church, in a new house, in a friendly
community, I spent hours in prayer, cried in silence, longing to hear directly
from God. Why didn’t He just bump me on the head and tell me clearly what to
do? I discovered that was not how God works.
As I
pastored, some people rededicated their lives, some were converted and some
even felt called to a professional ministry. But I noticed the church structure
was little practical help to those individuals with harsh, everyday problems.
Most days the people sat and listened, then went home to their unsolved
problems for the rest of the week. My messages became increasingly centered on
solving people’s difficulties.
One
day I chose to go visit an old pastor of mine. He’d lived an amazing life. He’d
started two or three churches, had two different families, and couldn’t preach
without crying somewhere in the message. He could smoke a cigar and tell a
gasoline pump attendant about Jesus at the same time. I liked him because of his
honesty. Although he had no Seminary training, he had family with strong ties
to Seminary and suggested I seek them and talk my concerns.
After
some weeks of struggle and visiting with my old pastor’s kin, I felt impressed
to enroll in a Seminary for an advanced degree. I uprooted the family and
started another spiritual journey. For a short period, I kept the pastorate
because it was my only source of adequate income. I commuted an ungodly distant
of miles to take seminary courses and then I made a surprising discovery about
my preaching. I noticed I was performing more like a pulpit therapist than a
theological leader.
I
resigned my pastorate and concentrated on seminary studies, taking all the
theological courses, I could handle. Lacking only six hours finishing a
master’s degree in theology, I made another surprising discovery. I bumped up
against the field of Christian counseling. I found you could work toward a
master’s and a doctorate in counseling. So, I switched majors and entered the
field of behavioral science from a Christian perspective. At one point, in
those days, I even attended two different seminaries to piece together the
courses I wanted, courses that made Biblical applications to the modern
problems of people. Everyone around me stayed mystified. They thought I had
lost all perspective. But I felt a deep excitement inside and fulfillment with
this new direction. And while the years that followed displayed bumpy potholes
in my path, my decisive road I traveled in those days turned out to be correct.
I worked, completed a Master’s and Doctorate and entered the field of higher
education, hoping that working with students, who are often more honest, might further
combat any deceptive practice. [more to follow]
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