Skip to content Skip to footer

Help! I’m on the pastor search committee!

I’ll never forget the day when after a nearly 9-month interview process, after answering the world’s longest questionnaire, after having the specter of a possible move over my head while trying to go on at my church like nothing’s happening, I got word I would not be called as the new pastor of First Baptist, LoDebar (not their actual name, in case you were wondering).

Oh wait, you’re gonna love this part. I received word not via a lovely typed correspondence from the chairman of the pulpit committee. And not from a phone call from him, either. And not even an email.

How did I find out? When I checked the church’s website and saw the picture of their new pastor smiling at me with his wife and bald head.

He had the bald head, by the way. Not the wife.

Only a couple months earlier I’d been informed I was one of their top three candidates, and they would soon be coming to my church to visit. After I sent them the dates I’d be in the pulpit, they said they’d be there. I waited…

They never showed.

Here’s another beautiful thing: I never once got to talk with them. Not in person, not even on the phone. Yet I was in the top three on their list of finalists. Really?

As I read the announcement on their website now, I begin to understand. It seems their new pastor wouldn’t have far to drive for his trial sermon that coming Sunday.

That’s because he was already there. Their new pastor was a member of their church, all along.

Boy, had I been a sucker.

It was then clear to me what had been going on. I was a place-holder candidate, a guy who would make it look like the search team was actually looking and doing their job. But all along, they had the person they wanted sitting just 3 pews down the aisle from them!

I was competent enough to look like good competition for their guy, so that when I was excluded it would look like there had been a real contest.

But there was no contest. Just a lot of my wasted time.

That experience illustrated what other pastors had told me all along, “Search committees have no clue what they’re doing”. But the real truth is neither the committees nor the candidates for those positions know what they’re doing. None of them. That’s not a critique, just a reality.

You see, other than the basic Biblical qualifications for the pastorate, there is little textual advice for hiring pastors. And if you ask another pastor to come in and advise your team, look out: you may get infected by his personal agendas and prejudices. You may end up hiring some buddy of his who needs a job desperately, or looking only at candidates from his favorite seminary.

While experienced advice it great, ultimately you don’t need a word from another pastor or denominational leader. You need a word from God. Period.

Your team, by listening to your congregation and seeking God in prayer will be led to God’s man if you leave all your agendas and biases at the door. That includes the idol most committees construct when looking for a pastor. You know…

  • He’s young and energetic, and looks great on camera.
  • Yet even though he’s young, he has years and years of experience in megachurches.
  • His wife looks like a model. Not that you’ve noticed, but…
  • He’s got just the right degrees from just the right schools
  • And amazingly, the denominational bigwig who recommended him just happens to be a good friend of his. Go figure.

No, for your team you need Godly people full of wisdom who know how to sense when God is speaking, like Samuel knew when God pointed out David from the midst of his brothers. That is the number one most important thing, and nothing else even comes close.

After that one true essential, I do have some practical suggestions…

The Sermon

My first suggestion would be that when a name is submitted, one of your team take a moment to watch his sermon from last Sunday. No, not the cherry-picked sermon he sent you. Instead, watch a random one from the church he’s trying to leave. That will tell you what his average sermon will sound like, not his once-in-a-blue moon barnburner sermon.

I say “watch” the sermon because you need to do more than just hear him. You need to see his non-verbal communication as he speaks. Of course, you want to know that his preaching is Biblical, but you also want to know he is a fine communicator.

Non-verbal Communication

And communication is more than just words spoken. It is a total presentation of the Gospel through the specific personality of the pastor.

Does he smile occasionally? In our tv-savvy age, this is of huge importance. I can get away with saying some pretty tough things if I say it in a pleasant way. But I can also put people on the defensive during the most innocuous of sermons with just my facial expressions and delivery.

So watch the total presentation, and immediately exclude anyone who you don’t believe could communicate to your congregation. Is your church made up of mainly working class folks, or uneducated people? Well, you probably don’t want the pastor with lots of references to academic publications or with a high-brow delivery. You’re part of your congregation so you know them. Trust what you know will speak to them without barriers in the way.

You may point out that preaching is not all it takes to be a good pastor. And you are correct. He needs to also care for people and be a true shepherd. He needs to be a man of integrity. He needs to be able to take down barriers with people one on one. All that is important.

Yet, if he possesses all those things yet can’t handle your pulpit, he’s not the person for you.

I’m making the presumption you’re a church that wants to grow and attract new people. If so, you need to understand that, more than worship, more than programs, people still rate the sermon as the top deciding factor in where to go to church.

This is the bottom line: if they get what they need in the message, they’ll be coming back. If not, it doesn’t matter if you’ve constructed a Christian theme park for their kids in Children’s Church. They’ll keep looking on past you.

Watching the first 5 to 10 minutes of a sermon should tell you all you need to know. A good preacher prioritizes the beginning of a message, knowing it’s impossible to win a crowd back if you lose them there. If he hasn’t captured your attention by then, move on. No need to waste your time.

A Pastor’s Heart

Next, make sure he’s really a pastor. What I mean is, look for clues he truly cares about people.

I’ve known lots of men who were great in the pulpit, but actually couldn’t stand people. The old joke I heard goes, “I love the ministry, it’s just the people I can’t stand!”

Well, the joke is on them, because the people are the ministry. Without a heart for them, you’re not a pastor – you’re just a religious TedTalk speaker.

See if he has volunteered in ministries or for organizations in ways that wouldn’t give him a chance to speak. Is he humble enough to serve in ways that don’t showcase his talents, but simply meet needs? Does he ever visit hospitals, or does he leave all that to some retired minister on staff?

Or is he just a big shot who hides in his office, works on his sermons and avoids personal contact? That attitude seeps down into the rest of the staff, contaminating them and starving your church for shepherding ministry.

The Pastor’s Wife

Next, get to know his wife. Really well, and not just because she looks like a model. Get to know her because she has to be as called to your church as her husband is. She must be willing to make the sacrifice to leave where they are and cleave to her new church.

Right, you noticed I just phrased it like a marriage, and that is pretty indicative of what’s happening. When you leave to serve a new church, there is huge sacrifice involved, even if the former ministry field was tough.

The pastor’s family has to leave a town with which they’re familiar. They have to leave all the relationships they’ve developed over the years there. The pastor leaves his reputation and clout to build a new one in the new town, starting again from scratch basically.

All this means the pastor’s family is having to lay a lot of things they love on the altar, as Abraham laid Isaac down. They are being asked to sever those important support systems and connections.

I cannot emphasize how huge of a sacrifice this can be. It has been a year now since I left my former church to begin a new ministry, and there is still a bit of a grieving process for the loss. But if my wife had been at all tentative about the move and transition to a new ministry field, I would be toast.

Like the guy once said, “If momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy!”

So…spend a lot of time with the pastoral candidate’s wife. Don’t just ask her soft ball questions. Ask about her current support system and friends. Has she thought about leaving them? How does she like your town? Has she been shopping yet or seen the neighborhood grocery stores? How does it compare to where she’s leaving?

You will be able to tell not only by what she says but by what she doesn’t say if she’s allowing God to start the process of moving her away. Sure, she shouldn’t be all there yet. But a Godly wife knows when God is moving them just as much as the pastor himself knows. If she is resisting, her answers will betray it.

A BIG NO-NO

If you want to really turn off your pastoral candidates, do this. After you’ve received your first batch of resumes, email them all back saying the following:

“Thanks for all the information you’ve already submitted. But now here’s a long-exhaustive list of essay questions for you to answer. Basically, we’re asking you how you’d respond to every hypothetical situation that might ever arise within our church. We’re also asking every single program you’ve ever led, and why you haven’t chosen to apply other programs and strategies in your existing church...”

I know why committees send these questionnaires: it puts absolutely all the work on the candidate. I’ve received some that required essay answers that would have filled 5 to 10 single spaced pages to respond properly. That is unreasonable and counterintuitive to your search. That’s because any really successful candidate won’t have time to write all that out because HE’S BUSY LEADING A SUCCESSFUL CHURCH SOMEWHERE ALREADY! The only people with the time to write the “term paper” response you want is the guy with no church and nothing better to do!

Whenever I’ve received these long questionnaires, I immediately tell the church to remove me from consideration. They’ve told me they don’t respect my time, and they don’t really know what they are doing.

There’s a much better way to get all the answers you need to those questions: a conversation. So spend a little more time narrowing down your field based on their sermons and resumes, then start calling them up for phone or Zoom interviews.

ANOTHER NO-NO

Every church whose congregation is aging thinks the answer to all their growth problems is to hire a young pastor. They rarely come out and say that, but if they were truthful their ad would read as follows:

WANTED: PASTOR

BETWEEN 30 AND 35 YEARS OLD WITH DOCTOR’S DEGREE

NEEDS AT LEAST 20 YEARS EXPERIENCE LEADING A MEGACHURCH

CUTE BLONDE WIFE WITH 2.5 CHILDREN

READY TO LIVE HAPPILY ON $50,000 A YEAR OR LESS

The reality is a young pastor will not necessarily draw young couples to your church. But what you can put your money on is that he will come with MINIMAL PRACTICAL EXPERIENCE. Therefore, he will be learning from all his mistakes ON YOUR TIME. Even if he attracts some younger people, there’s a good chance he will make sudden, abrupt changes that run off much of your older crowd (who just happen to be your financial base). If your church does manage to grow, he will then most likely leave you to go to a larger church where he will avoid doing all the things that hurt your church.

Don’t look for age, look for integrity. Youthful enthusiasm is great, but experience and a proven track record is best!

Finally, give yourself grace. You are not omnipotent, and your search process will not be perfect. But if you follow and listen to God, He will stand with you even when others fail you.

In the end, God is the one who will pick your next pastor. That’s the way it should work, and it  eventually will despite the imperfection of both the pastors and the search committees.

As long as God’s in charge, we’re all OK.

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.