The Pastor's Job or Exhortation to a Man of God

I got this quotation on the job of the Pastor from John MacArthur from Sam Allberry (the Curate at St Ebbe’s)’s blog, Shibboleth at http://www.allberry.blogspot.com/. It’s a bit pungent but it makes a point, or two, I reckon.

Fling him into his office. Tear the office sign from the door and nail on the sign "study". Take him off all mailing lists. Lock him up with his books, and his typewriter and his Bible. Slam him down on his knees before texts, and broken hearts and the flick of lives of a superficial flock and a holy God. Force him to be the one man in our surfeited communities who knows about God. Throw him into the ring to box with God until he learns how short his arms are. Engage him to wrestle with God all the night through. And let him come out only when he is bruised and beaten into being a blessing. Shut his mouth from forever spouting remarks and stop his tongue forever tripping lightly over every non-essential. Require him to have something to say before he dares break the silence and bend his knees in the lonesome valley of prayer. Burn his eyes with weary study. Wreck his emotional poise with worry for God. And make him exchange his pious stance for a humble walk with God. Make him spend and be spent for the glory of God. Rip out his telephone. Burn up his ecclesiastical records. Put water in his petrol tank. Give him a Bible and tie him to the pulpit and make him preach the Word of the living God. Test him, quiz him, examine him, humiliate him for his ignorance of things divine. Shame him for his good comprehension of finances, game scores and politics. Laugh at his frustrated efforts to play psychiatrist. Raise a choir and form a chant and haunt him with it night and day: 'Sir, we would see Jesus.'

When at last he dares assay the pulpit ask him if he has a word from God. If he doesn't dismiss him. Tell him you can read the morning paper and digest the television commentary and think through the day's superficial problems and manage the community's weary drives better than he can. Command him not to come back until he has read and re-read, written and re-written until he can stand up, worn and forlorn, and say "Thus saith the Lord". Break him across the board of his ill-gotten popularity. Smack him hard with his own prestige. Corner him with questions about God. Cover him with demands for celestial wisdom. And give him no escape until his back is against the wall of the Word. And sit down before him and listen to the only word he has left: God's word. Let him be totally ignorant of the down street gossip.

Give him a chapter and order him to walk around it, camp with it, sup with it, and come at last to speak it and say about it all things which ring with the truth of eternity. And when he's burnt out by the flaming word, when he's consumed at last by the fiery grace burning through him and when he's privileged to translate the truth of God to man and finally transferred from earth to heaven, then bear him away gently and blow a muted trumpet and lay him down softly. Place a two-edged sword on his coffin, raise the tomb triumphant for he was a brave soldier of the Word and 'ere he died he had become a Man of God.

I think the quotation might be from Rediscovering Expository Preaching.

Good job that God’s grace is sufficient and that His power is made perfect in weakness.