not professional

Those two words could be the death-nell for one’s career as they imply limpid, bad service and whip one into assuming the position of stooping that others who are more serious about climbing the ladder of success may be given their obligatory boost up.

Professionalism is demanded of everyone: doctors, lawyers, airline pilots, sales associates, managers, plumbers, pastors and even from that guy or gal that makes your burger at your favorite burger stand. Don’t believe me? How many times do you check your bag before you pull away from the drive-thru window—‘cause if it ain’t right, somebody’s going back in the store—you know what I mean.

Professionals. They wear a uniform, generally. They have some badge of identity on them that says, “this is who or what I represent.” There is a sense of pride in being an professional, for there are not many people on the face of the planet who can do the things this or that “professor” can do.

I remember this wonderful soliloquy delivered by the late (and great) Sir Peter Ustinov in his narrative personification of the dastardly villain-pirate Edward Teach, sometimes known as Captain Blackbeard [no Jack Sparrow here, matey]. Lifting his voice in that wonderful cavernous English gravel, he boasts, “Let me tell you . . . I’m very proud to be a pirate; for as a pirate, I commit many piractical acts that help my story along, you see.”

Ah, yes. Proud to be the professional.


I’ve always wondered about the suit—it is a rather strange garment when you think about it—making into a jacket the same material as one’s pants with certain folds, cuts and buttons—and the whole affair graced by shiny shoes and some selection from the tie-rack, strips of cloth left over from suits nobody would wear (at least that’s how they seem to have gotten started) to bind closely around the neck with some eye-bulging knot.

Professionals wear suits. James Bond wears one. The president wears one. Vice-presidents wear suits—some carry umbrellas. Executives wear suits. Pastors wear suits because they, too, are professionals. Except for the Billy Sunday types who shed the jacket and roll up the sleeves for the uninhibited full-throttle pulpit-pounding. . .

You know, when I think of the professional I think of two people: Desiderus Erasmus of Rotterdam [Holland] (1466-1536) is one. Why? Because he was perhaps the last man on earth who really knew it all—he was the last professional. Though most of his works remain asleep on the dusty shelves of few libraries, his influence is felt yet today. He loved poetry and philosophy and art and people and language so much that he personally undertook the task of translating most known works of his day, most notably the translation of the Bible into a parallel Greek/Latin edition. Though he did was what we would now call a humanist, and though he certainly did not support the reformers, Erasmus certainly paved the way for Martin Luther, William Tyndale and the rest. The point is: he exposed himself fully to all known written works of the world and interacted with it—this is what made him professional.

The other person that comes to mind as professional is John Bunyan (1628-1688). He demonstrated an amazing ability to consume, retain and utilize that which was most important—the Bible. Charles Spurgeon claimed that Bunyan was so saturated in scripture that if he were pricked he would bleed the Authorized Version. Read anything Bunyan wrote—read Pilgrim’s Progress—and one would be hard-pressed to find where Bunyan stops and the Bible begins.

Professionalism has everything to do with saturation.

I know a man who spent years going to school to get an education for the ministry and is now a very successful business man with a heart for children without fathers. He was offered a prominent position with all the “perks” and he turned it down because of the care his family needs: his wife, his kids, his parents, her parents. Is he professional? Well, he wears the suit . . . so what—the suit comes off. He spends more time in his shorts than his suit and is more professional than Donald Trump or the lawyers downtown.

The pastor as professional—he wears the suit. [Who came up with that anyway?] The pastor is to be professional, right?

“That’s what we pay him for!”

I believe it is sad to demand professionalism from a pastor and pay has nothing whatsoever to do with it. Consider his training and the world in which we live. This is a business-oriented society and someone somewhere thought the body of Christ needed to compete as a business with other businesses, so theology and soul-care takes a backseat to becoming (in effect) the local equivalent of a College President. He is expected to keep money coming in by keeping the people coming in, attracting them, wooing them, helping them feel better about themselves so they will live long and prosper. . .

The pastor is expected to know everything there is to know about maintenance and the physical plant and all manners of growth and expansion pertaining thereunto. He is to be the expert on the health of his organization as well as its members. He is expected to be an excellent sportsman, busdriver, teacher, philosopher, psychologist, psychiatrist, apologist, missionary, shepherd, lead worshipper, chairman/facilitator—not to mention: husband, father, grandfather, disciplinarian . . .

John Piper drives it home in the most heart-felt way. I can almost feel his arm around my shoulder when he says, “brothers, we are not professionals.”

Where are the professional weepers-over-sin?
Where are the professional pursuants of holiness?
Where are the professional body-pummelers and flesh deniers?
Where are the professional cross-carriers?
What is professional faith?
What does it mean to be filled with the Spirit, professionally?
Is there a way to be a professional clay pot, being entrusted with the gospel?
How do we live in this body of death professionally?
How is the life of Jesus manifested in our bodies professionally?

Piper says it rightly: “We are fools for Christ’s sake. But professionals are wise. We are weak. But professionals are strong. Professionals are held in honor. We are in disrepute. We do not try to secure a professional lifestyle, but we are ready to hunger and thirst and be ill-clad and homeless.”