I heard these words a few times as a youth pastor when I was just cutting my teeth in ministry, and I absolutely relished them. It was confirmation to my heart and my soul that I was doing what God had called me to do. I’ve heard these words now as a senior pastor and they aren’t nearly as appetizing—they are frightening.
What are these five words?
“I’m here because of you.”
Those words once fed my ego—or maybe just my insecurity. I could look around and congratulate myself that a handful of people were there because of the way that God was using me in preaching, relating or just because of my vision for doing things. I’d be lying if I said that a good part of my excitement wasn’t just fleshly pride.
But now…those words terrify me.
Why the words “I’m here because of you” terrify me:
- First, those words terrify me because I know if you are here because of me you’ll likely also leave because of me. I’m not sufficient. I’m not competent enough or holy enough to captivate affections or attentions. I’m going to preach terrible sermons. I’m going to step on toes. I’m going to sin against you. I’m going to let you down. And if you are here because of me when those things happen—and they will—you’ll be tempted to leave and find someone else who will also let you down. This terrifies me because I know up front who I am and I know that I cannot live up to those expectations.
- Secondly, those words terrify because I’m not Jesus and I don’t need the temptation to think that I am. Oh, there is something so carnal and prideful within me. Abominable thoughts that I’ve got what it takes to grow a church, to keep people, to disciple people. Foolishness. I’m not able to save a single soul. I cannot captive the heart of anyone (nor would I want to). But when I hear words like those dastardly five, I’ve got a battle to fight.
- Third, I’m a person and not an asset. It does something to my soul when this truth is forgotten. I need people not just to lead people. I need the vital companionship of the local church just as much as you do. But whenever I’m viewed as an asset (or liability) I’m robbed of a bit of my humanity. My family and I aren’t performers. We’re people. Broken people being redeemed—oh, it feels so slowly redeemed—by Jesus.