The word success is almost as elusive in today's society as the word love, carrying with it a host of meanings. To the businessman it suggests wealth, property, and position; making the largest sale, getting the highest raise, or becoming corporation vice president. And the rest of society generally measures success by similar criteria—external marks of status and prestige.
But in the realm of the ministry, such definitions are inadequate and distorting. For the pastor, success cannot be measured by quantitative standards.
But this is how success is sometimes judged in the ministry. I made the mistake once of asking a fellow clergyman how large his church was. The strained explanation that followed taught me that for many pastors this can be an awkward question. Some judge success by the size of their congregation. The larger the church, the more successful one is.
To others, holding a position at denominational headquarters is the deter miner of success. This is called "upward mobility." The premise underlying this definition is that the successful pastor always keeps moving "upward": from a small church to increasingly larger churches and ultimately to an office position in the denomination. And if we don't follow that track, then we have failed—and the midlife crisis strikes.
What if the larger churches are always given to other people? What if we never get those office positions? Have we really failed? Are we then second-rate ministers? I am convinced that the answer is no. Quantitative measures almost never tell the complete story. Success for the minister must be measured by a different standard. And that standard, I believe, is determined by God's will.
I wonder how many of us will spend a good portion of our lives being unhappy and disappointed in our humble congregation, feeling that we have been un fairly passed by, only to discover some day that we are exactly where God wants us to be. In human terms, success means pastoring the larger church. But in God's eyes, success is being where He wants us to be. Which really matters? In the face of eternity I am sure it is clear that only one counts. Only one seal of approval matters—and that is God's seal. God ultimately determines success or failure for each of us.
In my opinion, the story of John the Baptist speaks more clearly to man's proud heart than any other story. If we were to judge by worldly standards, he had it all—and lost it. He had come out of the wilderness as an unknown. But his preaching was dynamic, and he moved people's hearts as no one had done in centuries. He baptized many and even had a following of disciples who called him their teacher. Thousands flocked to hear him or even just to get a look at him. And we will never know just how far John's popularity might have carried him if circumstances hadn't changed.
But something happened. Another man came on the scene. He too was a dynamic preacher. And the crowds who a little while before were pressing around John were now traveling in the opposite direction to hear this Jesus of Nazareth.
John's disciples had a hard time swallowing what appeared to them a humiliating failure. And they complained, "Rabbi, He who was with you beyond the Jordan, to whom you have testified—behold, He is baptizing and all are coming to Him" (John 3:26, NKJV).
John's simple response powerfully presents the lesson of humility. He said, "He must increase, but I must decrease" (verse 30). It was this attitude of humility that would bring him to a dungeon in Herod's hall and eventually to death. In the eyes of the world he was a failure. But in the eyes of God he was a success because he fulfilled his mission and then stepped out of the limelight when it was his turn to do so.
This is what made him a great man. His success wasn't determined by the thousands who followed him or by his dynamic preaching but by his willingness to let God direct his life, even into paths he himself wouldn't have chosen. And in order to find success in the eyes of God (where it counts most), we also must be willing to let God direct our lives even if that means no glory and prestige, or perhaps even downward, rather than upward, mobility.
Not many of us will get to pastor the large prestigious churches or hold important denominational positions. But when we share the grief of a family who has lost a child to death or help heal a wounded marriage, who is to say that we have not succeeded in the finest and truest sense of the word?
