The true reasons people go into ministry are manifold.  We’ve written at length about the need for divine calling.  But not surprisingly, there are human factors as well.

One major human factor that is widely unacknowledged is personal brokenness.  I’ve never met anyone in ministry who didn’t have some level of emotional wounding in their lives.  In Henri Nouwen’s words, we are “wounded healers.”

There is an upside and a downside to this.  Emotional wounds make us more sensitive to and responsive to the working of God in our lives.  Like Jacob, the wound causes us to stop wrestling and start clinging (Genesis 32).  Properly acknowledged and brought to the feet of Christ, our hurt can be a great vehicle for blessing to others (2 Corinthians 1).

These wounds come in many shapes and sizes. Here are some I’ve seen:

• Strained relationships with parents, especially those who are physically or emotionally absent
• Alcohol or drug abuse, in us or our families
• Traumatic experience
• Early or unexpected loss of a close friend or relative
• Sexual abuse
• Experiences of rejection, isolation or loneliness
• Some other addictive habit or besetting sin
• Physical handicaps

This list is not exhaustive, obviously.  We could add more to the list.  My first question I would pose to you is: what is the primary place of brokenness in you?

It’s possible that some of you will read this and say “This must be wrong, because nothing like this has happened to me.”  Maybe not.  It is possible that you are in denial, but I’m content to admit that you may be a happy exception to the rule.

But for the rest of us, whom I’m convinced are in the majority, it is critical to the success of our ministries that we learn to be stewards of our brokenness.

Brokenness has a couple of snares.  First of all, the same emotional need that drives us to God can easily drive us to sin.  The temptation is to find quick satisfaction and relief from pain in a forbidden distraction.  Many people in ministry flip back and forth between pursuing their healing in Christ, and pursuing some relief in alcohol, pornography, relational dependency, or escapism of other kinds. Unchecked by healthy accountability, this snare can easily lead to moral failure and an ignominious end to your ministry.

The second snare is far more pernicious.  It is very possible to be driven to Christ by your emotional wounds, and then fail to fully acknowledge and address them and apply to gospel to them.  Ministry can become a cloak to hide behind.  When our wounds are not properly acknowledged and addressed, they will fester, turn poisonous, and seep out everywhere.  There are plenty of people like this in the church and in ministry, who are inadvertently damaging the church.

I remember the first time I recognized this.  I knew two individuals in one church whose passion for the Lord was very apparent.  Casual visitors to their church would have said that these two were the most spiritual people in the congregation.  One was a man who was deeply committed to prayer, ready to serve, and always very enthusiastic.  As I got to know him I discovered that his prayerfulness was a cloak for a massive spiritual pride-entirely unacknowledged by him-that annoyed his wife and drove his children away from Christ.

Another was a woman-passionate, eager, hard-working, and idealistic.  Her fervor covered a deep father-wound that came out in manipulation, undermining authority, and a need for control that bordered on insanity.  These two people, who on the surface appeared most spiritually together, were in reality the most emotionally messed up people in that church. Their loud display of commitment to Christ was not sufficient to counteract the bitter poison of an untreated wound.

I heard this week about an associate pastor whose insecurity and control issues are about to cost him his job-for the third or fourth time.  If we are to have an enduring ministry, we must steward our brokenness well.

The gospel of the love of Christ is the ultimate solution to our emotional wounds and our proclivity to sin.  Stewarding our brokenness means

• Fully acknowledging our wounds
• Pursuing our healing and satisfaction in Christ
• Submitting to regular accountability in healthy community

A few questions:

• How are you emotionally wounded, and how does it affect you?
• How are you pursuing your healing in Christ?
• Who is asking you about it on a regular basis?

It’s important that we come to clear and definite answers on these questions.

I grew up in South Florida. I was a native Floridian, which was pretty unusual. In my 9th grade class of 30 students, for instance, only two of us were actually born in Florida. The rest were transplants. Consequently, there wasn’t much of a unique Floridian cultural identity. Mix the Old South, Yankee transplants, immigrants from Mexico & the islands… it was a mish-mash culture, and not a particular source of pride for any of us.

Then I got to Texas. Sweet Moses, was it different! Texas pride-which I still fail to fully understand-was everywhere.

• “Everything’s bigger in Texas.”
• “Everything’s better in Texas.”
• “Texas is the best.”
• “I [heart] Texas.”

Everywhere you turned, there was this rampant Texas nationalism. I wasn’t really offended by it… I just didn’t get it. I looked around and thought to myself, “Yeah, this is nice and all, but c’mon, people.”

One of my Texas friends, a 300 pound air conditioning repairman, said to me once, (just imagine the accent):

“I don’t know why anyone would want to live anywhere else but Texas. Everything you want’s right here.”

I asked him, “Have you ever been anywhere else?”

He replied, “Well, I went to Arkansas once.”

Now, this is not meant to be an anti-Texas screed; I actually really enjoyed my time there. My point is that moving to seminary means moving. It means, in most cases, a different place with a different culture.

Now the consolation, for many, is that the move is temporary. In most cases, you’re not going to settle down and live there at seminary forever, though I’m sure that happens occasionally.

It was interesting to me to see how people responded to the (temporary) culture shift. There was a significant group of people-usually married-that did not really settle into living in Texas. Most notably, they didn’t make friends while they were there. They seemed to keep all their relationships intentionally superficial.

The attitude was: “I don’t like it here, but I’m living here because I have to. So I’m just going to bide my time for (insert timeline; 2-3 years) until I can go back home where people are (insert attitude: better, normal, smarter, etc.).” In my observation, it was more often not the seminary student with this attitude, but his or her spouse.

(I’m curious, incidentally, if that was just unique to my experience, or if students in other places see this happening. I’ll look for your comments below.)

So this brings me to this word of exhortation: while you’re at living at seminary, live! It may not be home for you, but your real home is in heaven anyway. (Philippians 3:20) Even in your hometown, you should be living as a stranger and an alien (1 Peter 2:11)

The exiles from Jerusalem didn’t enjoy living in Babylon (see for example Psalm 137!), but the command to them in Jeremiah 29 was to settle down, build houses and gardens, start families. In other words, live!

According to the scriptures, God “determines the times set for us and the exact places that we should live.” And he does this, the scriptures say, “so that men will reach out for him and perhaps find him.” I understand that to mean that as an agent of God’s kingdom, wherever I’m living, there are people God sovereignly puts in my relational sphere so I can influence them for His purposes, and vice versa.

So live while you’re at seminary. Settle into the local culture. Do all the things you would do to have a normal life… including making friends.