Dave Harvey

The Paradox of Humble Ambition

True humility directs our desires forward to Christ. All our ambitions are directed towards him. All our plans are in service of his kingdom, and his glory. We expect great things from, and attempt great things for, Jesus Christ, whose name is higher than any other name (Heb. 1:4). If humility is guardrail, gasoline, and governor, then Christ is the goal. We aspire to be only unworthy servants, thrilled with the privilege to simply enter into the joy of our master (Lk. 17:10; Matt. 25:23).

I love humility, which is why I advocate so loudly for ambition.
Not the narcissistic variety you see in sports, politics, and Hollywood, though. If  you observe a man whose ego balloons into the stratosphere, pray for them. They are naked and not ashamed.
Then look down, and double check your own distance from the ground. After all, it takes one to know one.
No, that’s not the kind of ambition I’m talking about. I’m talking about godly ambition. The kind that gains velocity because it’s hedged in by humility. For a leader to “expect great things from God and attempt great things for God,”[1] in William Carey-like fashion, God must be the enthralling object of our aspiration. True humility does not smother ambition in the name of modesty. Rather, true humility snuffs out love of self with the superior affection for a greater glory — specifically, God’s glory.
True Humility Guides Desire
Laziness often masquerades as meekness, but true humility guides — and even fuels — desire.
We are meant to see ourselves as “[God’s] workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them” (Eph. 2:10). But we often get this backward in our churches. “Humility” provides cover for all kinds of sloth, ambivalence, and self-protection. If ambition is a vice, then indolence is a virtue, and the less-aspiring-one ends up more highly praised. “My, look at what a fine Christian specimen he is. He’s so modest that he reaches for nothing, aspires to nothing, and risks nothing!”
Blessed are the meek. . . . for they shall, what, sit on their hands?
Those who assume an anti-aspirational “modesty” that does not desire great things for God often use humility as a pretext. This is not the kind of humility God wants. The one who buries their talent to protect themselves from risk may find the Master condemning rather than celebrating their decision (see Matt 25:26).
Seeing Through Audacity
Another angle. Sometimes we encourage low aspirations not because we love humility but because we fear ambition. We prioritize eradicating inflated self-expectations above pastoring people toward a more glorious goal. I say, give me the young man who comes up after I preach, telling me he longs to do it better than me! I can smile and say, “You set the bar too low,” knowing God is fully competent to crush his pride. My job is to see beyond the blip of his immaturity and put a superior affection on his radar. I want to engage his longing for significance until he hears the gospel “ping!”, sets his significance aside and fixes a course for God’s greater glory.
If we will look beyond the audacity of young people, we may discover the future of the church.
Paradoxically, the same is true of their ambivalence.
Seeing Through Ambivalence
The first time I met the man who would succeed me in the church where I pastored for almost 3 decades, he was an unbeliever. Moreover, he was asleep in the front row. . . . while I was preaching. But God whacked him good with a conversion that eventually transformed his entire personality. He went from being bored by God’s Bride to wanting to “spend and be spent” in the service of her care. That church is still planting churches under his leadership.
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Even Pastors Doubt: Counsel for Faith Crises in Ministry

What might you say to a church leader who’s experiencing a serious crisis of faith?

“It’s not mainly about belief in God,” Joel explained to me. “I know he still exists in some abstract way. I still pray and read my Bible — but the vertical stuff feels less real than before. What feels real is the horizontal chaos. It’s how people in the church treat each other; it’s how we’ve been treated! Never did I think ministry could look so ugly. It’s made me question things I never thought I’d question. I’m facing doubts I never thought I’d face.”

Maybe you know a church leader like Joel. Maybe you are that church leader. You feel phony. Ashamed. The pretending feels too hard. You’re supposed to be the guy with answers. But you have questions — big questions. And doubts too — growing doubts. Doubts begetting more doubts.

You know James 1:6–8 calls the doubter “double-minded” and “unstable.” So you stare in the mirror, saying, “What am I supposed to do?” A mind maze with no exit has formed between your ears. To resign is to concede the ground to your doubts, as well as to confuse and hurt people you love — maybe even causing them to stumble in their faith. But to continue as a pastor feels pointless and miserable — maybe even impossible with your conscience screaming, “Hypocrite!”

What might you say to a Joel? What might you do if you are a Joel?

Here’s what I say: when in doubt, remember.

You Are Loved

When doubt visits, or even becomes a squatter aiming for long-term residency, remember, in Christ, that you are loved by God.

It’s tempting to breeze past this point. I get it. Talk of God’s love can feel too generic. Stay with me. There’s more to say and much more you need to hear. But you need more than my words. You need God’s words,

The Lord is gracious and merciful,     slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. (Psalm 145:8)

Can I suggest you read that again? But slower this time. Not as a familiar doxology, but like it was written to you. For this very moment.

Are you wondering how God feels about you right now? It may not be what you think. When God sees you in Christ, he is moved with grace and mercy. He’s not rolling his eyes because you are perplexed. His love for you is steadfast and abounding. Yes, you — the struggling pastor. God has an unquenchable, unrelenting, unflappable affection for you.

Remember when Thomas expressed doubts over Christ’s resurrection (John 20:24–29)? He waited eight days, but then Jesus did not ghost him to retaliate. No, Jesus appeared to Thomas and moved toward him. He engaged him, spoke to his doubts, drew him forward and upward. Jesus was gracious and merciful, abounding in love.

Christ has already satisfied God’s wrath for the ways our faith falls short. He moves toward us and meets with us. God is so determined that we know his heart, he repeats the essence of Psalm 145:8 again and again throughout the Old Testament.

Why is this important? You may doubt God, but his heart toward you in Christ is never fickle. His love is steadfast. That means that even when our love loses traction, his love sticks, and in turn, reinvigorates our affections for him. We love him because he has first loved us.

You Are Not Alone

Only one person ever walked the earth with perfect faith in God’s promises. It was the God-man, Jesus. The rest of us live in homes where doubt knocks. Sometimes loud and often.

I get it. I’ve entertained questions about whether God really cares, or if my prayers really matter. More than a few times, I’ve needed to cry out with the words of the desperate dad who said to Jesus, “I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24). This is a pathway leaders sometimes walk as we navigate ministry in a world of faith without sight.

I’m not trying to make light of your doubts or convince you they are inconsequential. I’m merely pointing out that some Christian leaders have had grim stays in Doubting Castle. But many of those same pastors will testify that, even when stumbling alone and dazed through those dark corridors, God was faithful. In Christ, Doubting Castle is not your permanent residence.

Satan Is Real

Remember Satan? Well, he’s real. And you are serving in a church situated on his turf. You think he’s ambivalent about what you’re up to? Not for a minute! Scripture calls him an “adversary” who “prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8). His food of choice is church leaders; his favorite dish is our faith. Satan loves to devour our awareness of God’s existence and our anticipation that “he rewards those who seek him” (Hebrews 11:6). By attacking faith, Satan incubates doubt within the soul.

It’s for good reason Paul calls us to “put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil” (Ephesians 6:11). For in that armor we find an essential defense: “the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one” (Ephesians 6:16). Satan has a full quiver of darts, with each barb cunningly customized. He consistently fires two doubt-darts directly at the pastor’s soul: “God is fake” and “So are you.”

‘God Is Fake’

Satan’s first appearance reveals much about his ongoing tactics. His first recorded words are, “Did God actually say . . . ?” (Genesis 3:1). In a nutshell, Satan schemes to undermine the truth of God’s word and the goodness of God’s intentions. When Satan hurls this doubting dart at you, the defense God supplies is the shield of faith.

“The best antidote to doubts about God is to draw near to God.”

The best antidote to doubts about God is to draw near to God. This includes reacquainting us with the realities of how God portrays himself in Scripture. “Whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him” (Hebrews 11:6). Do you hunger to draw near to God? He invites you to do so by remembering not only that he is real but also that he is a rewarder of those who seek him.

If you fear heights, you don’t climb a ladder looking downward or looking inward. You look up. When you focus upward, you leave downward doubts behind. You gain confidence to move ahead. So, raise the shield of faith. Look up.

‘You Are Fake’

Satan wants to undermine your confidence in your standing before God. He knows your condemnation means your silence. The gospel does not ring forth from leaders who wonder if they believe it themselves.

Don’t let Satan lie to you. Listen instead to the wisdom of Spurgeon’s grandfather.

Once, when the tempter had grievously assailed me, I went to see my dear old grandfather. I told him about my terrible experience, and then I wound up by saying, “Grandfather, I am sure I cannot be a child of God, or else I should never have such evil thoughts as these.”

“Nonsense, Charles,” answered the good old man. “It is just because you are a Christian that you are thus tempted. These blasphemies are no children of yours; they are the devil’s brats, which he delights to lay at the door of a Christian. Don’t you own them as yours; give them neither house-room or heart-room.” (Autobiography of Charles H. Spurgeon, 1:160)

What a wonderful grandpa! Though dead, he still speaks by reminding us that condemnation is the devil’s child. Don’t own his blasphemies about you. Give them neither head-room nor heart-room. The cross has spoken; you are forgiven. Flee to the promise that says, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1).

Mission Marches On

Close your eyes and imagine the scene. Jesus is resurrected; the days are electrifying. Before his departure, Christ gathers the eleven remaining disciples. He wants to leave them with a commission — a Great Commission. Then Matthew adds, “When they saw him they worshiped him, but some doubted” (Matthew 28:17).

Can you see it in your mind? There stands the resurrected Savior — nail prints still visible in his revived, renewed, glorious body. And what’s the faith temperature of the group? Some are doubting. And what does Jesus do? Bang some heads together over their dippy inability to connect the dots? Nope, not even close. He goes on to deliver the Great Commission anyway.

One of the reasons I love this passage is because it’s so easy to paint myself into this picture. I’m a born fretter. From my earliest memories, my mom used to caution me about worry. So I can see myself standing there among the disciples, fussing over the future, fretting over logistics and provision. But Jesus just carries on. It’s like he’s saying, “You have doubts and worries. Let me show you your path forward: go — do the gospel work I’m giving you to do.”

This confidence must be connected to Jesus’s final words, “Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). Jesus was saying to them, “I know you don’t have all the details. I’m aware of your doubts and misgivings. I can sympathize with your weaknesses and temptations (Hebrews 4:15). But I’ll be with you. Now let’s get on with it. Your doubts will be resolved in good time as you follow me and obey my commandments.”

When in Doubt

Are you tempted with doubts about whether God is or will keep his promises to you? Or whether the church is worth serving? Or whether you’re failing Jesus in your ministry? Remember, Christ is still with you and will be till you cross the finish line.

Do you doubt whether God can use a doubt-laden disciple? Remember Hebrews 4:15, John 20:24–29, and Matthew 28:17: Christ both knows and sympathizes with what you’re experiencing; you’re not damaged property to him, nor does he pause the mission program until you have everything all together. Sure, your soul may be cut on the jagged edge of broken people and a broken world. But the Great Commission includes a great promise: the Savior knows our temptations and is with us in our going.

The next time you feel uncertain, skeptical, or cynical, when you feel the doubts begin to pull the plug on your faith, remember: you are loved by God, you are not alone, Satan is real, and the mission marches on. And remember too that once-doubting disciples changed the world.

What God Sees When He Looks at Me

When God looks at us, our heavenly Father no longer sees us in our lies, or lusts, or those things that have shamed us from the past. He doesn’t see us as sinners who need to have our acceptance card stamped or our churches grow in impressive ways. The record of Christ’s perfect obedience is dripping off of our souls because of what Christ accomplished. And when God looks upon us, that’s why he sees. That’s all he sees. 

In 1929, professor of theology J. Gresham Machen parted ways with Princeton Theological Seminary as it embraced the theological liberalism of the day. He, along with some friends, founded my alma mater, Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia.
Eight years later as Dr. Machen lay dying, he dictated a telegram to his longtime friend John Murray, professor of systematic theology at Westminster. Short and simple, Machen said, “I’m so thankful for the active obedience of Christ. No hope without it.”
When I read that story, this thought popped into my mind. Why would a dying theologian, with an expansive intellect that could access innumerable doctrinal truths at that moment, look specifically to the obedience of Christ as a source of hope?
The answer, I found, was quite spectacular. Because Christ’s obedience on earth makes all the difference in life and death.
One Man’s Obedience
In Romans 3, Paul makes a sweeping statement–we’ve all fallen short of God’s glory (Romans 3:23). The entire book of Romans is a theological tour de force celebrating the what and why of God’s answer to that problem. Drawing from the Old Testament, Paul helps us see the broader storyline of God’s intention to slay his Son to save sinners.
In the early chapters of Romans, Paul lays out the reality of why we have fallen short of God’s glory. He also explores why we’re unable to solve the problem ourselves. Chapter 5 provides a fascinating angle on God’s solution through a contrast between Adam, our selfishly ambitious forefather, and Jesus, the humble Messiah.
“For as by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous” (v. 19).
By one man’s obedience . . . many will be made righteous. What does Paul mean? Paul is making a comparison, setting up Christ’s perfect obedience against Adam’s disobedience. But why is this comparison of obedience report cards so important to Paul?
When we think about Christ’s obedience, we often think first of his death. Certainly Christ’s obedience culminates at the cross. John Piper once called the crucifixion,  “the crowning act of his obedience.” His willingness to pray, “Not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42) and then to carry that conviction through the agony at Golgotha is—well, it’s utterly incomprehensible.
But Christ’s obedience also included a life in which he obeyed all of God’s law, in all things, at all times.
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Faith for Hard Days

If people like me are to be ambitious for the things of God, we need to be rescued from shortsightedness. Like Lalani, we need to learn to see beyond the fire that burns a thatch roof, beyond the botched sermon or that member’s meeting that didn’t go so well. Too many of us are wearing blinders that have narrowed our gaze. 

Have you ever come across a story that walloped you right between the eyes? This one, reported by Tim Stafford in Christianity Today, did it for me.
Lalani Jayasinghe lived in the southernmost part of Sri Lanka in a simple home with no plumbing. A widow of twelve years, Lalani had few earthly reasons to be joyful and content. But she was a Christian and an active member of her local church.
A few years ago, Lalani was chosen to represent her church for a meeting in the capital city of Colombo to discuss the current challenges Sri Lankan Christians were facing with persecution. Lalani had personal experience with persecution. While at home with her son one day, her husband was brutally killed by local monks hostile to followers of Jesus.
Lalani took the all-day trip to Colombo for the meeting where many churches were gathering for updates, prayer, and support. They wanted to strategize on how to respond to the violence they were facing.
Stafford tells her response:
When asked how things were with her church, she replied, “Wonderful! Praise the Lord!” Later she gave a more detailed report, telling how the local opposition had that week organized a protest march against her church, and then burned the thatch roof.
Stunned by this news, someone in the meeting asked why she said that everything was wonderful. “Obviously,” she answered enthusiastically, “since the thatch is gone, God must intend to give us a metal roof!”
Tim Stafford, “The Joy of Suffering in Sri Lanka,” Christianity Today (October 2003), vol. 47, no. 10.
So let me see if I have this straight: Lalani is a victim of violent persecution. She’s already experienced tremendous personal loss, then local mobs burn the roof off her church. Yet her response is praise.
Honestly, I don’t think I would have come within a mental mile of her interpretation of that event. If a hurricane rips the roof off my house tonight, I’ll be thinking of insurance, not roof upgrades. But Lalani had her eyes set on something higher.
Why don’t I see life that way? Why don’t I look at ministry problems like this? What’s the big difference between Lalani and me? I think it comes down to one dream-shaping, risk-taking, resilience-inspiring, life-transforming word: Faith.
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The Clay-Pot Conspiracy: Hope for Leaders Losing Heart

One year ago, we lost our youngest daughter to her longstanding battle against addiction. Walking alongside her in this multiyear struggle sank us into parts of this broken world we never dreamed we would inhabit. Dark places with desperate people became familiar terrain. We fought for life. Death won. Now our precious daughter is gone. Each morning I stare into the eyes of her 2-year-old son, now entrusted to us.

Since then, I’ve learned a lot about grief. I have seen how it attacks meaning and motivation. Grief creeps up and seizes a moment, an hour, an afternoon. I think it’s going to be like this for a while. The shadow of death; the empty chair; the burden of shame; the clay pot, broken.

Ministry, if I’m honest, is conflicting. It’s been more splendid than I possibly expected and more painful than I ever dreamed. Somewhere along the way, I began to think differently about resilience. It’s no longer the place I am reaching for after the pain. It’s the work of God, in and through mystery and agony, by which he is helping me persevere in a way that reveals his power.

Treasure in Jars of Clay

In 1947, a young Bedouin shepherd was herding his flock on a hill near the Dead Sea. Since sheep are prone to wander, one little lamb ambled away. The shepherd set out on a search that led him to a dark cave on the northwestern ridge.

The young shepherd approached the cave mouth, peered inside, and then chucked a rock into the darkness. Something shattered. Crawling through the entrance, the intrepid shepherd came face to face with an archaeological wonder.

The boy found a row of enormous clay pots, larger than him — each one sealed shut. Popping one lid, he found ancient scrolls inside — some wrapped in linen, others blackened to the point of being unreadable. Little did the shepherd know that he would be immortalized as the guy who discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls.

A treasure of incomprehensible value. Stored in clay pots.

Clay-Pot Conspiracy

Make no mistake: ministry is hard. We come aboard assuming God tapped us for our strengths. But God’s program incorporates many of our weaknesses. In a broken world, ministry is often conveyed through broken vessels. Listen to how the apostle Paul describes it:

We have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you. (2 Corinthians 4:7–12)

Paul faced opposition in Corinth. Tradition has it that he was somewhat unattractive and sported some kind of eye condition (see 2 Corinthians 10:10; Galatians 4:13–15). From his opponents’ point of view, Paul was too plain, too contemptible, too weak. But Paul counters with a decidedly unconventional defense. To the charge that he’s insufficient, Paul says, “Guilty.” To the charge that he’s an unrefined orator, Paul repeats, “Guilty.” To the charge that he’s weak, Paul asserts, “Guilty!” Paul flips the script on his detractors by saying, “You think my weakness disqualifies me. But actually, it’s the core of my credentials.”

Paul discovered a secret: his weakness was an opportunity for God’s power. He learned that when our weakness meets God’s grace, strength abounds. It’s what I like to call the “clay-pot conspiracy.”

Although the word conspiracy has dark overtones, I think it accurately conveys the essence behind God’s hidden agenda. God has a covert plan to sabotage the enemy and to display his power. It’s a secret design to humble the proud, abolish boasting, and establish the ground for our longevity.

That’s what I mean by the clay-pot conspiracy. And it’s as simple as this: Our weakness + God’s power = resilient ministry.

Filled with Gospel

Paul states, “We have treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us” (2 Corinthians 4:7).

Paul’s treasure is his gospel ministry. Paul is speaking about the resplendent worth of the incomparable gospel, the priceless message about the Savior who left the glory of heaven and died to save sinners. But let’s connect a couple of dots. Gospel ministry is a privilege many of us share with Paul. It is a privilege that we’re called to when we enter ministry as leaders in the local church. We share the glorious honor of proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ, to see the light of God’s glory go forward through the finished work of Jesus.

Now comes the conspiracy. At the heart of this passage rests a stunning contrast. This incomprehensible treasure is stored in fragile jars of clay. Church leader, God is talking about you. You have something of infinite value stored in your ministry, your body, your life — your clay pot. You are the receptacle; you are the clay pot in which the treasure of the gospel rests.

Can You Own Your Weakness?

When I was 7 years old, my brother — such a nutcase, my brother — called me over to the gravel parking lot across from our house. “Dave,” he said. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

In his hand was a gold nugget — at least what looked like a gold nugget; I didn’t yet see the gold spray-paint cans littered on the ground around his feet.

“Whoa! Where did you get that?” I said.

“Right here, man!” he said. “And they’re sprinkled all over the parking lot. It’s filled with gold!”

I stood astounded. But my brother was just getting started. “And guess what? I bought the whole lot!”

Then he stepped forward. “And since I’m your brother, here’s the first piece of gold from my new lot.” He reached over and set the spray-painted piece of gravel in my sweaty hand. When I close my eyes, I can still remember the sensation of awe as I palmed this priceless mineral that had transformed me into a wildly wealthy kid.

Feeling the burden of spontaneous wealth, I knew my gold needed to be secured. So I ran home, rushed upstairs, and grabbed a shoe box. I put my gold nugget in the middle of the shoe box, and I stuffed newspaper all around it. Then I wrapped it in duct tape (because we all know that duct tape is impregnable to burglars). The box then went into the bottom drawer of my dresser (because no criminal would ever think of going into the bottom drawer). Even at 7, I knew that my treasure should be in the safest place I could find.

But God’s strategy is different. God stores his treasure in something common and breakable. We think our battle with anxiety makes us less effective to lead. We assume our bodily illness or our prodigal child means the end of usefulness for God. But beneath your pain there is a plan — the clay-pot conspiracy. God is working to make your life speak in ways you never imagined. How? God stores his treasure in clay to show that the surpassing power belongs to him and not to us (2 Corinthians 4:7).

We are not always strong. We are weak. And the only way to experience God’s surpassing power is to own our fragility. God stores his treasure in jars of clay. Can you own it?

Break the Pot to Free the Power

The intruders in Corinth were known for boasting about their power — for talking incessantly about the triumphs of their leadership. So, Paul says to them, “Let me share with you my ministry profile.” Then, the apostle provides these four contrasts (2 Corinthians 4:8–9):

“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed.”
“We are . . . perplexed, but not driven to despair.”
“We are . . . persecuted, but not forsaken.”
“We are . . . struck down, but not destroyed.”

Ministry, for Paul, was complicated and excruciating. It was a life where you’re afflicted, baffled, persecuted, and struck down. Paul summarizes it by saying, “We are . . . always carrying in the body the death of Jesus” (2 Corinthians 4:10).

“Your pain is designed to produce a leader who embodies the gospel message.”

As with Paul, your pain is designed to produce a leader who embodies the gospel message. God triggers experiences of death in us so that gospel life might flow. It’s a series of trials where your kids see you maligned, but you do not retaliate; where one sleepless night rolls into the next; where you keep loving when you feel like your heart is empty.

But it’s all part of the plan. Death is at work “so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh.” Do you see the plan? God breaks the pot to free the power.

That’s right. Your weaknesses and struggles — the very places your mind is going as you read this — are the very places God makes his power known most clearly. You are walking the path behind Paul. “I carry death, so that the life of Christ may be manifested in me.”

It’s strange, isn’t it? We come into leadership thinking the kingdom advances by strong people using amazing gifts to bear epic fruit. But God says, “Not really. When I want to shape a soul for service, I bid him to come and die. When I want my gospel to ring forth, I break the pot.”

Your suffering is meant to produce life for others. It’s not merely confounding. It’s the clay-pot conspiracy. Our weakness + God’s power = resilient ministry.

Resilience Right Now

Leader, remember: Your suffering is not an obstacle to resilience. It’s the means of producing it. It’s all part of God’s conspiracy, where “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope” (Romans 5:3–4). God breaks the pot to shape the soul. It’s a mysterious grace we are given, a grace upon which we stand (Romans 5:2).

If you’re struggling for resilience right now, remember: Your pot is not the first to be broken. The clay pot of Christ’s body was broken for our sins. Then Christ rose from death on the third day. It’s the conspiracy’s origin: God made death produce life.

“From the ashes of your brokenness, God is kindling the fire of hope and life.”

Leaders, don’t begrudge the nails that pin you to the cross. Don’t despise your places of death. From the ashes of your brokenness, God is kindling the fire of hope and life. Though it baffles the mind, those wounds are fortifying the resilience you seek. And they are preparing your soul to meet a Savior. Each day in heaven will be more glorious because of what you have borne on earth.

When I look into my grandson’s eyes and see my daughter, the pang reminds me that God breaks the pot to free his power. If you’re in ministry and experiencing any kind of loss, the breaking is also forging a more durable soul. The kind that reminds the world of the true power behind a crucified Savior.

My weakness plus God’s power equals my resilience. It’s the clay-pot conspiracy. And it is magnificent!

Where Mercy and Justice Meet

We’ve all seen it. Two believers squaring off to contend for their position or politics. The forum might be Twitter, a small group, a coffee shop or maybe a Sunday meeting. But the atmosphere remains the same. Language is charged, listening is poor and learning is, well,…learning is running late and stopped by the pub for a brew. Yep, just a couple of Jesus-followers setting aside a whole lotta Scripture for the privilege of owning each other in a conversation.
Maybe you’re reading this and thinking of someone you know. Maybe they would read it and think of you.
I can relate. I find it difficult blending justice and mercy. It’s much easier for me to go hard at one or the other. This is a justice issue; this is a mercy moment. In my quest for simplicity and clarity, I reach for Solomon’s sword to divide the baby, so I can deal with them separately. But the funny thing about justice and mercy is, they go together. And what God has joined together, let no man separate.
What The Lord Requires
“What does the Lord require of us? To act justly, and to love mercy and to walk humbly with our God.” (Micah 6:8). Here justice, mercy and humility are all introduced as the Lord’s requirement. Picking and choosing our preference is not presented as an option. We are not afforded the luxury of saying, “Mercy seems nice, but I’m more of a justice-guy.” Likewise, our vision of humility must have teeth; it must be willing to boldly blow the whistle and call evil to account.
Why go through the mental gymnastics of stretching to apply all three?  Simple. It’s what the Lord requires of us.
If you’re anything like me, you were born with the justice-chip already installed. Batman and Superman were my first TV shows. (Truth, justice and the American way! Amen, preach it superman!) I went to college for Criminology and never, ever changed my major. Not once. From there I was off to the Police Academy where, upon graduation, I accepted a role to lead a private security department in a high-end retail store. Let justice roll down!
Justice I knew. Mercy? Not so much.
Where Justice and Mercy Kiss
In the years to follow, here’s what I learned. Mercy addresses how God relates to us as “sinners.” It describes his disposition of kindness, patience, and forgiveness toward us even when we don’t deserve it. God’s mercy is eloquently illustrated when the Psalmist says, ​​”He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities.” (Ps. 103: 10)
Mercy is God’s perfect love extended into the lives of imperfect humans. God’s mercy covers us, and then in turn, we cover others with mercy. Mercy endures, it is long-suffering, it pardons rather than punishes. Mercy, justice, and humility walk hand-in-hand. When justice is what we deserve, mercy pardons. And the whole enterprise is powered by humility.
From where do we draw such an audacious idea of a person fully integrating justice and mercy?

First Among Equals: Why the Pastors Need a Leader

First among equals. In the panoply of church polity, this phrase — derived from the Latin primus inter pares and used to describe a local church’s lead or senior pastor — pokes a tender spot. After all, if someone is first, then we’re certainly not equal. Or are we? It just feels so out of step with our current climate, like lead pastors are going to wake up one morning on the wrong side of history.

But what if I told you that this role reflects a principle that can mark the difference between duty and delight for a church leadership team? For church leadership to flourish, the elder plurality must be led.

Elders Need a Leader

Throughout the Bible, when God chooses to execute his will upon the earth — when he reveals his redemptive purposes, forecasts the future, or frees his people from bondage — he begins with a leader. The Old Testament offers a gallery of names that remind us of God’s regular pattern of using one to influence many — Noah, Abraham, Moses, David, Nehemiah, Jeremiah, just to name a few.

In New Testament times, we’re told Christ chose the twelve (Luke 6:12–16), but Peter functioned as the leader among them. The early church enjoyed a similar plurality of leadership, yet it appears James exerted a unique role and influence as the key leader of the Jerusalem congregation (Acts 15:13; 21:18; 1 Corinthians 15:7; Galatians 1:19; 2:12). The same is true in the church today. An eldership, as a body, needs a leader.

“For church leadership to flourish, the elder plurality must be led.”

Now, I can almost hear you saying, “Where is there any reference to a lead or senior pastor in the Bible?” You’re right. There is no single, airtight Bible verse that decisively proves that pluralities should assign a lead pastor. But there is a broad pattern of order — a beautiful tapestry of leadership — that appears from the opening pages of Scripture to the final words in Revelation.

The necessity of a first among coequals in human economies is resonant with (though not equivalent to) the way the Son submits to his Father in the incarnation (Philippians 2:5–11), as well as in the order God ordains in the home (Ephesians 5:21–33). Leadership is not a consequence of the fall, but represents God’s good design for human flourishing in a well-ordered world.

Nineteenth-Century Perspective

Back in the mid-nineteenth century, Southern Baptist professor William Williams (1804–1885) offered a short historical survey on how the “first among equals” role developed (with quotes from historian Edward Gibbon):

“The want of united action among the different presbyters [elders] of the same church when they were all of equal authority,” and the order of public deliberations requiring that there should be someone “invested at least with the authority of collecting the sentiments and executing the resolutions” . . . of the church, led to the appointment of one of their number a permanent president or moderator. The title bishop, which was applied to all the elders, came after a while to be applied exclusively to the president — elder, as Justin in the middle of the second century still calls him, merely to distinguish him from his equal co-elders. He was not superior to them, but only “first among equals.” (Polity, 532; emphasis mine)

Williams gives us several gems in this little paragraph. He tells us both what a primus inter pares (“first among equals”) is not, and what it is.

He is not a command-and-control guy.

These days, Christian leaders often draw their model of leadership from sources outside of the Bible. Don’t get me wrong — it’s good to read broadly. You must read to lead. But church leadership literature and practice often draws heavily from the business world, which in turn borrows freely from the military.

In the military, particularly during warfare, command and control are a necessity. It’s never good to stop and question your commander when you’re taking fire. My son had six deployments in the Army, several of them in hot zones. When he was there, I wouldn’t have wanted his superior officer to stop and convene the group for some mid-assault collaboration. When you’re taking a hill, having a top-down, centralized authority structure is necessary. In wartime, you need a commander who compels compliance and disciplines anything less than complete obedience. Pity the poor platoon with a leader just “collecting the sentiments and executing the resolutions” of the group.

But we can’t import a command-and-control leadership model into a local church eldership, where the culture (as well as the means of doing ministry) should be defined by Scripture and the fruit of the Spirit. Whatever “first among equals” means, it does not mean absolute ruler over the team. As Williams says, “he was not superior to them.”

“Whatever ‘first among equals’ means, it does not mean absolute ruler over the team.”

In fact, it’s hazardous when pastors organize their vision of leadership around the word first in “first among equals” — when the lead pastor’s opinion is first, his preferences first, his sensitivities first, his entitlements first. A primus-driven team culture often incubates celebrity entitlements and leadership ecosystems grounded in power and authority. For the plurality, the church staff, or the congregation, this plays like a karaoke machine at a funeral — seriously misguided and hopelessly out of place.

Primus-driven leaders can be tempted to relegate godly character and humble service to the margins, sentencing fellow team members to a fear-based and unsafe culture. When that happens, guys know they serve at the pleasure of the senior leader, whose agenda defines direction and whose perspective dictates reality. No wonder staff turnover is common; team members leave because the senior leadership is no longer tolerable. Or worse, no longer respected.

He is not merely a moderator.

In our cynical culture, plurality is much easier to support than the guy who feels called to lead one. People love the democracy, co-equality, interchangeableness, and accountability implied in plurality. This pares-driven model feels extremely enlightened, remarkably fair. Suspicions are stirred by the misguided man who feels a distinct call to exercise the gift of leadership (Romans 12:8). It feels like a power-grabbing conspiracy against the laity. To center preaching and leadership in one is to diminish the strength of all.

I’ve known churches where the elderships were unadorned with senior leaders. Where you see this model working well, it’s typically due to some remarkably humble elders seeking to uphold a principled vision. But I believe it works against an order outlined in Scripture and applied throughout church history and human civilization. Where the leaderless-equals model seems to be working, chances are that someone is, in fact, the consistent initiator and buckstopper, the collector of sentiments, and the executor of the group’s resolutions. It’s just undercover — influence without a title.

For most elder teams, however, it actually prevents confusion and helps avoid misuses of authority to identify the real sources of leadership and power. And honestly, in many cases, the absence of this order brings the presence of chaos as conflicting visions, the want of elder care, and alignment complexities consistently tempt the unity of elder teams. In fact, Williams tells us that the “first among equals” role arose because of “want of united action.” At the end of the day, disunited action often has a dividing effect.

He is a leader from among.

These two errors — the error of overbearing primus-driven ministry and the error of egalitarian pares-driven ministry — highlight the truth that to be healthy, both the eldership and the senior leader must operate within a humility-empowered tension.

On the one side, the lead pastor advocates for the opinions and involvement of the team as a whole. As Williams observes, he must “collect the sentiments” of the elders, which requires listening well as he solicits their counsel, understands their thinking, and leans on their gifts.

On the other side, the plurality of elders creates space for the senior role to actually use his gifts to lead. Once again Williams is clear. He tells us that the “first among equals” is invested with authority to “execute the resolutions of the church.” This means the elders grant the senior leader latitude and followership to order and direct their efforts.

But don’t think battalion commander or CEO. As Andy Crouch once said, “Think of a symphony conductor!” The senior pastor’s leadership does not coerce toward action, but directs skillful people whose gifts need to be organized, prioritized, and united to produce magnificent music. The result is a beautiful blending of leadership and teamwork, where the elders remain jealous to be conducted by the senior leader, and the lead pastor knows he needs the gifts and unity of the whole team for the church to flourish. Why is this so crucial? For church leadership to flourish, the elder plurality must be led.

Call for Gospel Guts

A healthy plurality led by a humble leader is not accidental. It happens where men have the guts to apply the gospel. In a self-emptying display of humility (Philippians 2:5–11), the elders subordinate themselves and appoint a leader as “first among equals.” Through self-crucifying displays of love, the lead pastor embodies Christ’s application of “first” — among them as one who serves (Matthew 20:26–27). And within the exquisite torture of this tension between “first” and “equals,” the gospel grows more precious, and the humble leadership of one enhances the ministry joy for many.

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