Several years ago, I received an email from a friend that included this:

I am applying for a  ________  position. May I put you down as a minister reference? I still don’t know any ministers at  ________  who could give me one since the church is so big.

A part of my reply:

I’ll be happy to be a reference. What a perfect position for you! I’ll say lots of good things.

I hope this isn’t overstepping, but I wanted to say this also… I hope you don’t need me for a minister reference in the future. You are so gifted and also have so many places where you could grow if a pastor were investing in you. It’s upsetting to me to know that you’re in a place where you’re not known. To me, that means you’re being under-utilized and under-challenged.

If you just need to take initiative, I hope you’ll do that to find someone at _______ that you can call your pastor. If that’s not a possibility there, I hope you’ll find a place where it is. You have too many gifts and too much space to grow to be without a pastor.

What this is not about:

1) Church size – You can find several large churches that do a great job of connecting pastors to individuals. You can find several small churches that don’t. On the whole, it’s easier to remain anonymous at a large church. You’ll need to take more initiative and so will the church. But size isn’t the only factor here.

2) A paycheck – When I ask who your pastor is, I’m not concerned about a paycheck. That is, your pastor doesn’t have to be on staff at the church. They may be a banker or nurse. But they’re a part of your local church community and they’re your pastor.

What this is about:

1) Pastoral discernment – Who is the person in your life that can see the forest when you have your face pressed up against a tree? The person with spiritual discernment?

Note: This isn’t just for beginners. The person most mature in her faith still needs a pastor, just like Roger Federer still needs a coach.

2) Pastoral authority – That’s an ugly term in our independent society. But it’s needed. We love ourselves too much. If we want to make hard choices, we need to give someone the authority to suggest and prescribe them. On our own, we choose our own (easier) way.

Who has the authority to ask you uncomfortable questions and give you uncomfortable prescriptions?

3) Soul care – A pastor cares for your soul. (S)he works with you toward healing, wholeness, and hope in places of brokenness. She guides you in reestablishing broken relationships. When restoration is impossible or unlikely, she helps you sustain. She directs you toward growth and wise choices.

In a time of crisis, who is the pastor that will care for your soul? In the places where you need guidance or encouragement, or even a loving rebuke, who can offer it?

4) Someone in your local congregation – You may list several pastors. They may be scattered all over the place. That’s great! But you need to have a pastor to you in your local congregation. Each local congregation is a unique little body of Christ. It’s not just a venue to sing some songs and hear a sermon. You’re going through something special together as a community. You need a pastor within that community.

When you come to some of those most special occasions –– a wedding, a funeral, a baptism –– who will be there with you? Is it someone who knows you?

Who’s your pastor?

On Saturday, I attended a memorial service for David Sparks. It was packed with people who had called David their pastor. These people’s lives are different today because of the ways that David invested in them. He encouraged people to use their gifts and do more than they had done before. He was there for them when they had a crisis or failed or screwed up.

Who’s investing in you like that?

I’ve been formed a lot by several people who couldn’t pick me out of a lineup (e.g. Rob Bell) or who died long before I was born (e.g. John Wesley and Augustine). These have been important teachers for me, and I appreciate them for that.But they weren’t my pastors. They haven’t known me, been there when I needed someone most, or sat across a table to say something I needed to hear. They haven’t been able to share a personal word of challenge or encouragement.

So I’m thankful for the people who have taken the time to know me and invest in me. I’m not where I am today without the pastors in my life:

• David Sparks calling, texting, and meeting with me to give words of encouragement.
• Jerry Ernst teaching me to be a Christian leader.
• Aaron Mansfield not letting me off easy.
• Derek Robinette encouraging often and rebuking when necessary.
• Paul Brunstetter believing in me before I believed in myself.
• Todd Nelson offering words of wisdom and companionship.
• Mike Powers giving me space to discern calling.
• Paul and Sylvia Cummings teaching me to pray.

That’s far from an exhaustive list. To those many pastors in my life not listed above, thank you…

Our world seems to have lost the ability to understand nuance. Rather than finding a balance between two important points, we tend to pick one side and try to pummel the other into submission. Watch the debates about any political issue, and you’ll quickly see how much both sides ignore each other while they talk shout past each other.

Sadly, we see much of the same in the church today. The same issues keep coming up, and the same points keep getting made, but all to little effect. I’d like to suggest that we can divide the church in most of today’s ethical debates with one simple line. I’ll call it the grace-and-truth line.

The Grace-and-Truth Line

Our grace-and-truth line is causing all sorts of silly fractures in the church. One side talks a lot about living like Jesus, the other talks a lot about believing the Bible. One side focuses on God’s love, the other on God’s holiness and justice.

Grace people fear legalists and Pharisees who force people to live by their own artificial rules. Truth people fear universalists and antinomians who disregard God’s moral law.

In ethics debates, the grace people usually are optimistic about humanity. They receive everyone as good people, acceptable as they are––everyone except, perhaps, the truth people. The truth people usually are pessimistic about humanity. They generally seem to view everyone as sinners in need of reform––everyone except, perhaps, themselves.*

You may find my black-and-white depictions unfair—guilty of the very thing I’ve said is our problem. Many people operate somewhere toward the center of these. Actually, we all suppose that we are right at the center of any tension like this, striking the perfect balance. But even for those who aren’t fully black or white in the balance, it’s worth asking ourselves if we’re over-representing one side and neglecting the other.

How Tony Campolo tries to navigate grace and truth

Tony Campolo tells a moving and heart-breaking story about his conversation with a mother whose gay son committed suicide. He makes a strong point. The phrase “hate the sin, love the sinner” has been abused to condemn people’s actions from a distance. But while it’s easy to lob stones at sin from afar, it’s difficult to love people from that distance. As a result, many Christians’ hatred of sin has prevented them from coming near enough to “love the sinner.” Remove that, and the phrase simply becomes “hate the sin.” In fact, it begins to appear like, “hate the sin, hate the sinner.” All truth, no grace.

Campolo says that we should love the sinner and hate our own sin. Whenever we have gotten rid of the sin in our own life, then we can begin talking about the sin in our brother’s or sister’s life. Though he doesn’t say it, I get the impression that Campolo really means to say that we’ll always have our own sin to deal with first, so we should never talk about someone else’s.

Campolo’s motto is about grace for others, truth for ourselves. That’s not a bad corrective for those of us who are quick to give ourselves grace (every mistake has a good excuse) and to apply truth to others (they’ve got to do better).

Is Campolo’s solution sufficient? I don’t believe so. In fact, I think “Love the sinner; hate your own sin” is no better than the original, nor is it more biblical. In some ways, it’s less. Let’s look at another option.

Full of grace and truth

John’s gospel introduces Jesus by saying that he came to the world “full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). Jesus offers grace to a woman whom the people are ready to condemn: “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” Then he offers truth to her as a woman who needs to repent: “Go now and leave your life of sin” (John 8:2-11).

Jesus acquits the woman from the people’s condemnation, then condemns her actions and tells her to change. Could he have neglected either and been more loving? Or do we find his perfect love only at the intersection of full grace and full truth?

The problem with the truth-teller isn’t that he chastises people about their sin, but that he often doesn’t love those he chastises. His offer of grace is insincere, or lacking entirely. He suggests that he might give grace and hospitality once a person will accept the truth, but surely not before.

The problem with the grace-bearer is that, wishing to defend the sacred worth of the person, she’ll often defend his indefensible actions, as well.* Endorsing another person’s wickedness and self-destruction is surely one of the most hateful things humanity has ever tried to pass off as love.

On loving people and hating sin 

No, Jesus never said, “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” But he did say, “there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents” (Luke 15:10). And James wrote, “Whoever turns a sinner from the error of their way will save them from death and cover over a multitude of sins” (James 5:20).

I’d like to ask Tony Campolo how he expects us to ever turn a sinner from the error of his way if we’re never supposed to bring it up. I’d like to ask him why I shouldn’t hate anything that’s leading someone toward death.

A beloved friend of mine has cancer. I hate that cancer. I hate all cancer from a distance, but I particularly hate his cancer, because it’s trying to kill him. If I hated no one’s cancer but my own, what a selfish person I would be!

Even more, then, I hate sin. I hate all sin from a distance, but I particularly hate the sin of those I love, because it’s trying to kill them. I hate my own sin for the same reason. If we don’t hate our own sin, we’re fools, running toward destruction, even while we claim to be warning others away from it. But hating my own sin doesn’t prevent me from hating others’ sin as well.

The problem isn’t hatred of sin. The problem comes when our hatred of sin leads us to scorn sinners instead of embracing them. When we lack the grace to grieve for sinners, take compassion on them, and pray for them, we lack the love of Jesus.

Similarly, the problem with the other side isn’t love for sinners. The problem comes with our acceptance of their sinfulness. When we deny sinners the truth about their actions––that they need to seek treatment and healing––we lack the love of Jesus.

Can sinners who need to repent still be of sacred worth?

The problem for all of us is that we believe it’s impossible to tell someone she is of sacred worth and that her actions are sinful and require repentance. Over and over, I’ve watched Christian leaders claim that these two statements contradict each other, or at least create an ambiguity. We must choose––deny the sin or deny the sinner.

The miracle of God’s love is that he makes both claims at once. In our sinfulness––not after––we are of sacred worth. At the same time, God calls us out of our sinfulness into a repentant and righteous life before God. By his grace, he empowers us to repent and live holy lives.

Full of grace. Full of truth. Compromise on neither.

Is “full of grace and truth” our best way to approach ethics? Share your own thoughts in the comments or hit a share button below to ask for others’ opinions.

* In all my references to optimist and pessimist, I’m heavily indebted to G. K. Chesterton, whose language I’m barely modifying from pages 61-62 of Orthodoxy.