For years I’ve felt serious, concentrated frustration as I’ve watched people make decisions that will wreck their lives, especially in situations where we discussed it ahead of time. As I was thinking about one particularly heartbreaking situation that’s currently playing out, I was struck with an epiphany that may finally help me pinpoint a reason (one of many, I’m sure) that I experience this.
As a pastor and counselor, it’s my job to provide spiritual direction for people. To give them the guidance they need to make decisions that honor God and ultimately pay off, both in life and (more importantly) eternity. In each situation I try to exegete and apply Biblical principles, along with what experience has taught me (both mine and others), and mix in a healthy dose of common sense. I may not always succeed, but it’s my goal to provide a clear plan of action including specific steps whenever possible. Sometimes they just need to hear from someone that has an outsider’s perspective of the issue they’re dealing with. But no matter what, my responsibility starts and ends with providing direction.
But if you’re the one seeking guidance, whether from me or someone else, you have a responsibility that’s bigger than mine: you must provide the momentum to begin moving in the direction you’re given. At some point it ceases to be a lack of knowing which direction to go and starts being a lack of movement in that direction.
I’ve spent countless hours grieving over other people’s decisions. Sometimes I feel like I care more about their direction than they do. And I’m not sure the hurting will end any time soon, because that’s what it means to be a pastor. But it helps to identify where my responsibility ends, and theirs begins.
Look at it this way: if you want to ride your bike to Georgia I can point you in the right direction, give you a map, and explain in detail every road you’ll need to travel. But I can’t pedal the thing for you. In fact, if after all my research and explanations you’re still sitting at home, it’s probably safe to assume you didn’t really want to go in the first place.
Word