In fact, I don’t want to go much of anywhere that requires me to fit into a small space, wait in a line, or show an I.D. I don’t want to be where the action is; I prefer where it isn’t. It is part of my resume that I have taught in more than fifty countries of the world, spoken at hundreds of conferences, thousands of events and been feted by the best. My walls are lined with my books, awards, and photos with the important people I have met. I have been an adjunct this and adjunct that and I‘ve enjoyed it all. But I don’t long for it again, I don’t want to go back. I’m overjoyed to be sipping my daily espresso, reading a book, writing a column, and not being in charge of anything (except the evening dishes and the trash).
I have never been able to preach as well as I can now. But very few ask, and I am satisfied to sit in my pew every Sunday and listen to someone else (a lie). I am gleefully happy about what is happening at Asbury University, and thousands of other places around the globe (not a lie). But I don’t want to go there. God is with me right here, right now. I don’t care if anyone knows what I think about anything, except my wife and those people we sort of created called sons, daughters-in-law, and grandsons. I have flown four million miles on various airlines and my books are being read across the world in 30+ languages, but when they invite me to travel to their country and speak at their events, I almost never want to go. Why have I become like this and does it matter that I have?
I haven’t always been this way. I haven’t always been this old either. I still have plenty of energy. Let me restate that—I still have someenergy. I am still ambitious, but not selfishly ambitious. Let me restate that—I am not as selfish as I used to be, but I am still selfish. I used to be selfishly ambitious to compete with my colleagues, to sell the most books, speak at the best conferences, even create my own conferences so I could speak at them. Now I am selfish in not wanting to go somewhere I don’t want to go when someone wants me to go there. It’s all very confusing.
How do I know I’m not just worn out, angry, hostile, or tired of losing out to better people? The answer is, I don’t—not with 100% certainty. But let me present a case for inner peace and joy. My life converged into the sweet spot for which I have always longed and the one that God meant for me. I was taught by a mentor that to be secure was to sit in a room with people important to me who were talking about a topic I knew little about and to which that I could not contribute—and I would be at peace and not feel threatened. Some would consider such a state a coma or worse, but either there is something to be said for an ambitious person finding inner peace or it is a fool’s errand. [1]
Making something happen (or not)
In 2001 I was invited to a gathering of outstanding academics, writers, and leaders in Colorado. There I met a philosophical kindred spirit named Dallas Willard. His book, The Divine Conspiracy, and some of my books, Jesus Christ Disciple Maker, The Disciple Making Pastor, The Disciple Making Church presented similar values. He mentioned to me he had read my work and agreed with it. In fact, he said, and it is on the back of the book, The Disciple Making Pastor, that it was the finest book on the subject he knew about.[2] I came from the athletic world, Dallas from the academic. I was from a world where you earned your rewards and you out worked your competition. Life was a contest. In the afternoon session Dallas made a statement that took my breath away, “I am committed not to try to make anything happen.” I was humored by this impractical but lovable philosopher. (“How sweet that he can believe that, it must be nice.”)
That evening we were taking our meals together as a group. The seat next to Dallas was empty so I sat down. After I dressed my salad I asked him, “I was interested in that statement, ‘I am committed to not make anything happen.’ What did you mean by it?” He told me the context was that the singer, Amy Grant, preceded him at an event with a twenty-minute medley of her greatest hits and then he would be required to speak on the history of Martin Heidegger’s betrayal of his mentor Edmund Husserl. Actually, his subject was not that obscure, but he had no chance of being interesting or entertaining. In other worlds, he was predestined to be a flop—he was helpless to achieve anything important. It was at that moment that he committed not to try to make anything happen. He would not take responsibility for what God alone could accomplish. He also went on to relate that ministry was like bowling. Once you release the ball down the alley, it doesn’t matter how much you twist or turn your body, the ball is gone, you need to let it go and not concern yourself with the result. Finally, he related that regarding promotion of his work, that if he did good work, people would notice. That is where I am now. I do good work, whether it be founding The Bonhoeffer Project, conducting Bible studies, writing a column No Longer a Bystander,[3] articles, books, speeches, and God willing, people will notice. So, I can sit in peace and not concern myself with the response. (Mostly.)
The call (part 1)
But then there is the call. Every disciple is a called person and no call is revoked in this life. All who are called to salvation are called to discipleship—no exceptions, no excuses. Just read along for a moment.
“This letter is from Paul, a slave of Christ Jesus, chosen by God to be an apostle and sent out to preach his Good News.”
“I am writing to God ‘s church in Corinth to you who have been called by God to be his own holy people. He made you holy by means of Christ Jesus just as he did for all people everywhere who call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, their Lord and ours.”
“This letter is from Paul, chosen by the will of God to be an apostle of Christ Jesus and from our brother Timothy.”
“This letter is from Paul, an apostle. I was not appointed by any group of people or any human authority, but by Jesus Christ himself and by God the Father, who raised Jesus from the dead.” [4]
There are some of us who are early in our calling, some in the middle and yes, some of us who are approaching the end. But if Jesus were to enter the room and freshly issue our calling, it would be no more urgent than it already is and no more in force. So there we sit, a little tired, a little beat up, a bit cynical some days—but when we hear his voice we sit up straight, we lift our heads, we look over the horizon and we flex our muscles for it is about to begin and we never forget the tug, the urge, the power, the thrill, the joy, the importance.
Dirty airplanes and airports get old. If I think I may never go in either again, yes, a smile appears on my face. Hotel rooms are worse, and who can forget the feeling of being up all night in a European city, standing in a long immigration line, or trying to sleep in chair designed for an airport lounge. And there is that music they play on CNN International in public forums or the BBC that makes you never want to leave home again. But I doubt that the apostle Paul loved his hotels that came with chains, a good beating, and two helpings of swill. He seemed to have really bad luck on cruises and in court rooms and with crowds. But something kept him going. He kept moving, attempting to get to Rome, to visit churches, to see his colleagues. Something deep inside, stronger than comfort, more exhilarating than a good coffee and roll. He could have made a great argument that he had done enough, “I deserve some time catching up on my interests and hobbies, I want to paint, to draw, to garden, to play pickle ball.” His followers would have shrugged and said, “Ok, I guess you’re right, you are the Apostle Paul. That is the curse of a leader whom others respect. They don’t want to disagree, they want you to enjoy yourself a bit, so they go along.
The call (part 2)
But the called person must return to and live in the call, and when you hear the voice, you must respond or misery becomes your closest companion. There is nothing worse than being comfortably derelict. So, I sit and stare at my invitations, the opportunities, columns, books, curriculums, initiatives, medical procedures, funding challenges, it is a mountain to climb. It can just sit there and if I don’t touch it, no one cares that much. Eventually someone will call, knock, ask a question, but If I behaved uncalled, untouched by the divine, then of all men, I am most to be pitied. I have been a Zoombie[5] for the past three years, much like many of you readers. But that won’t cut it! I look to my left and I see my roller carry-on. I keep it against the wall, a bit of a metaphor I suppose. A satchel sits next to it. I could pack both blindfolded.
What does do good work mean?
There is something else, however, that Dallas and I discussed over and over again during the next decade. That was the power of doing good work. Another statement Dallas drew from antiquity was, “Seek not to speak, seek to have something to say.” Dallas did claim that as a young Baptist preacher stranded in Texas at Baylor University that he was desperate to find a place to practice his craft. God impressed on him “Never try to find a place to speak, try to have something to say.” He was able to put the burden down, the burden of looking for a place to preach. I have put that burden down as well. This is what I learned from my discussions with him: to learn to think, to study, and to seek knowledge. To prepare yourself to speak and because you have something to say, people will ask you to say it. Much like the Harpooner in Moby Dick, he sat still, prepared to strike, and when he was called upon, he stood and struck his target with precision.
Seeking to have something to say is not passively waiting for God to drop dollops of wisdom from the sky. It is seeking God, reading his word, reading the great writers, yes, even some monastics, and marginal types that can broaden one’s portfolio. I recently have read and enjoyed Surrender, Bono’s memoir, The Huxleys, An Intimate History of Evolution, Destroyer of the Gods, Early Christian Distinctiveness in the Roman World by Larry Hurtado, The Maze by John Corey, and Cameron Winter Mysteries by Andrew Klavan. Just about the time you get smug and secure in your journey in highbrow literature you feel the tug.
So what?
There is a strong pull in the opposite direction energized by ambition, adrenaline, and take-charge mentality. The argument goes something like this: you can do great work, but if no one ever finds out about it, so what? If the painting, the novel, the sculpture, the symphony stays in the garage, you might as well do something stupid like buy a huge Billboard ad for your work and place the sign three miles off the interstate in the upper Mojave Desert. This is what is called realism. People like Dallas Willard, people of great and rare gifts can afford to be highly principled, it doesn’t matter if they advertise or not, people will find out about them. And when you or I, the mere mortal, is sitting and waiting for the world to find out about how good our work is, it can get pretty lonely and discouraging.
The answer is not an easy one. One day you will find yourself on the realist side and other days on the I am going to dig in, trust God, and wait side. About the time you have settled on that, you will change your mind. It will occur that to invest the money to advertise your work will also require faith and trust, and courage, and daring. And you ask, “What money? I don’t have any money!” Oh, no one told you? The money you are about to raise is also an act of faith and daring. But eventually, after a few failed attempts at both, you will settle on something. There are times when publishers or patrons will find you and begin to advertise you to promote your wares. And after it is in their hands and grinding in their machines, it doesn’t matter if you are a penniless monastic or a newly minted millionaire, others do the deciding.
Back to doing good work, what does it require?
I once heard of an entrepreneur who advised authors to design the cover and back of a book with the biographic information and put in some really good zingers and attention getters prior to writing any of the book itself. May I suggest that this is ass backward. The good work begins with prayer, thinking, writing in order to think, and thinking in order to write. Also, taking some walks, having some talks with God, with others, and investing an appointed time several days a week in order to get into tune with what God is telling you to do. The first clue is what you seemed to be interested in, a bit excited about, and could see how it could make a positive difference for the Kingdom of God. [6]
My first book is still in print and selling well (Jesus Christ Disciple Maker 1984). Here is how I wrote it. I had a simple idea, Jesus Christ was all the great writers and theologians said he was, but it had been forgotten that his core function was that of a disciple maker. If he had not done that, he would not have had disciples to carry on and multiply his work. We had a responsibility not only to preach the gospel about Jesus, the gospel others spoke about him, but also, to teach the gospel of Jesus, the one he practiced and taught.
Details
I made an outline, took out our portable Smith Corona typewriter with the white-out cartridge, a legal-size yellow pad, ripped off the first page and twirled it in the Smith Corona. I began to type. I scheduled to type at least ten legal size pages each week (single spaced). Here is the key: it doesn’t need to be polished or good. As Hemingway said, “Just sit down and bleed.” When I questioned my ability, Jane said, “Just write what is in your mind in any order. Don’t worry about paragraphs, spelling, or punctuation. I’ll straighten it all out later.” I estimated the time required and found the hours in my schedule, morning, afternoon, night, weekends—whenever I could do it. I made sure never to commit to times that were impossible or conflicted with my pastoral duties or family obligations. I did ten pages a week for a year, taking a few weeks off, and I had around 500 pages. Then Jane Hull, my walking, talking, spell and grammar check, along with writing expertise, edited it. Both our names were on the cover, my name Bill, and her name Hull. (Ok, slap me!) When I signed the contract for the book, we hugged each other and rolled around the kitchen floor, much to the embarrassment of our sons. That was our commitment to doing “good work.” Yes, having a beautiful editor really helps, but commitment to the work and believing in the work is the most important. It is important to understand no one pushed me to do it, nobody was knocking on my door demanding my book, it was the inner drive that God put there and that has never left. One of my most important mentors told me not to write the book. I smiled, nodded, and ignored him. I listened to that persistent inner voice that said, “Do it, and do it now!” Oh, that reminds me, I need to dust off my luggage. (Just in case.)
Bill Hull
February 2023.
[1][1] 2 Timothy 4:6-8; Philippians 3:12-4:1.
[2] Just for the record, Willard’s statement on the back of The Disciple Making Pastor states, “ Bill Hull tells us the truth about church life and its leadership-biblically, courageously, and intelligently. I have no doubt that this is the best book available on disciple making and disciple development in the contemporary church. And this is the single most important issue now facing the church worldwide.” Dallas Willard
[4] Romans 1:1, I Cor. 1:1ff, 2 Cor. 1:1, Galatians 1:1,
[5] Zoombie, a cross between a Zombie and a person who uses Zoom technology.
[6] Mt. 6:33 Seek first the kingdom of God…
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