The pastoral life is a public life. The pastor is a public figure. There is much to be said about the work of the pastor but one thing is sure: it requires a lot of visible tasks and actions. Almost everything the pastor does is done in front of others.
Pastors also tend to enjoy and even crave, recognition. This longing is not bad. It is in us, by nature. I cannot tell you how many times my young children say to me, “Hey daddy, watch this.” We are made to be recognized.
Encouragement is invaluable and honor for our work is necessary. Like any good thing, however, danger lurks (This is the uncreative work of the Enemy. He always needs one of God’s good things to ruin because the clown cannot think up anything on his own.).
The public nature of the work, alongside this very real hunger for recognition, is a recipe for spiritual peril, an insidious trick to rob our joy. These elements meld and mix like a potent drug, offering a dopamine-like hit to the leader’s system. We can become addicted to that feeling, bowled over by its force, needing more and more to help ourselves feel it again, to help ourselves feel valuable, desired, and worth something. We want our pastoral path to be parade-like, sprayed with the confetti of flattery and adulation. Many pastors have fallen victim here and shipwrecked their careers, and more importantly, their lives. This kind of craving recognition is, quite literally, a hell of a drug and many pastors are trapped.
This is where the spiritual discipline of secrecy enters the conversation and offers us the help we need. The late (and great) Dallas Willard defined the discipline of secrecy as, “Consciously refraining from having our good deeds and qualities generally known, which, in turn, rightly disciplines our longing for recognition.”
He goes on to write, “Secrecy rightly practiced enables us to place our public relations department entirely in the hands of God, who lit our candles so we could be the light of the world, not so we could hide under a bushel (Matt. 5:14–16). We allow him to decide when our deeds will be known and when our light will be noticed.”
As pastors, we should purposely seek to do things, for our folks, that only the Lord could see, only our Lord can know. In Willards’ words, “We may even take steps to prevent them from being known, if it doesn’t involve deceit.” Christians throughout the centuries have observed that it is inexplicably good for our souls when we practice this discipline.
This, of course, does not mean that we forego the support that we desperately need to endure through the exhausting exercises of pastoral calling. By all counts, it is not exactly the ideal time for clergy to go without honor and encouragement. We need encouragement and need it very desperately. However, we can receive the support of our people and receive it truly, when it lands on the soft cushion of the affirmation and having-been-seen by our Lord. We can receive it in a healthy way when our worth is already firm, and found, in our union with our Lord Jesus, in the approval we have through Christ with our Father, and in the unspeakable comforts of the Holy Spirit.
Encouragement can be just that—encouragement—when our souls and deeds are seen in secret by God. When we crave recognition like a narcotic, no amount will not be enough for us. We will not be able to get off the train. However, when we don’t need the praise in this unhealthy way, we can actually enjoy it, receiving honor and encouragement when it comes as a gift from God for our endurance. Further, we can delight in it with humility, knowing that the good things about us have been given to us by God.
Pastors, our Lord (the God who sees) has promised a reward for the secret things. I promise that we will not be sorry when we’ve thoughtfully kept things hidden that only he knows.