Last year, I read a book that changed how I perceive leadership. In it, Mike Donehey explained that Jesus never called any of his disciples to leadership—not even “servant leadership.” When Jesus asked Peter to tend the flock that would become the first church, he asked Peter to feed his sheep. Not lead his sheep. Feed his sheep. The author had traveled the world as what the Christian industrial complex calls a “worship leader,” but Donehey contended that his job (and that of others) on stage during a church service is to be a worship feeder. He contended that to feed sheep, a shepherd must bend down, get low. For younger sheep, that meant getting on your knees.
This morning, I saw that first hand as my dear friend and mentor, Todd, fed the sheep of our church for the last time from stage. He and his wife are moving to an amazing opportunity in Georgia after twenty years at our church. Thanks to my church’s compliance with COVID ordinances, only a fraction of our congregation got to experience this goodbye. As any public speaker can tell you, it’s hard to emote and present in a sparsely-filled room. But Todd didn’t need a throng to demonstrate yet again the posture of worship.
Before meeting Todd, I’d never been in a service where the person leading music checked out of their “duty” and just prayed on their knees until the instruments stopped. I’d never seen someone walk off the stage to comfort someone during a song. I’d never seen someone put down their mic and their ego and then shout praise or whisper prayers while everyone else kept singing. Years after these firsts, Todd lost his voice and still led our church services—just with his mic muted during the music. In every other church I’ve attended, I’d never seen anything like that. That role went to the person with the best voice, the most musical experience, or someone with the pedigree of specific liturgical castes.
Among the many attributes that qualified Todd to lead our congregation was his humility. He demonstrated to thousands that worship was making much of Jesus, especially when it meant less of ourselves.
Man! Have I needed that example and his mentorship. One of my life’s primary struggles has been arrogance. I have a long track record of borrowing and even stealing the limelight. The addiction to affirmation has flown me around the world, chasing adrenaline rushes and bragging rights. That insecurity has bruised my marriage, hurt my business, marred my friendships, and created distance between me and my Maker. I’ve learned the hard way that “God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble.” I’ve too often experienced the maxim: “The path to humility is through humiliation.”
Throughout much of that journey, I’ve been given dozens of moments in front of Todd on his knees. It’s not a popular posture in our country, in our culture—and I don’t mean even the current protesting stigma. It takes humility to bow to another, to kneel in front of another, to open our hands and get on the ground in front of another. It usually comes at the wrong end of a gun or TASR, a bully or MMA fighter. It’s surrender. It’s a last resort.
So many times in my life, obedience to Scripture and surrender to the Holy Spirit have come only after I’ve tried other options—sometimes almost all other options. During my fourteen years of friendship with Todd, though, I’ve been gradually moving to that posture sooner and sooner in the process. I’m saying “I don’t know” first instead of last. I’m relying less on my experience and résumé and more on mysterious sovereignty. On the rare occasions I get it right, it’s because my response starts from my knees. Todd has been there for some of those moments, often with an arm around my shoulder. He’s felt my back shake as I sob while he prays—when I can’t pray.
He has taught me what the author of Hebrews meant by the phrase “sacrifice of praise.” He has demonstrated what King David declared: ”I will not present burnt offerings to the LORD my God that have cost me nothing.” He has grown an awareness of the supernatural and specifically of Jesus’ heart in the world around me. He has reminded me time and again of immutable truth that continues to form my character. He has shepherded me not so much by walking in front of me as much as getting on his knees in front of me and welcoming me close. Then, he has walked a little further down the path or through the pasture and repeated the process.
Todd baptized me in 2007, and that was one of the best days of my life. But the primary lasting image burned onto my hard drive will always be him on stage. On his knees.
