Here’s one of the professional hazard of being a pastor: You’re rarely afforded the opportunity to truly say what you think, nor are you afforded the opportunity to defend yourself.

And certainly not publicly.

I’ve been in a pastoral role (of some sort) since I was 19 years old. I’ve worked in small churches, large churches, churches in cities, and churches in small towns. And no matter where you pastor, you soon discover that you’ll be required to make some difficult decisions, painful decisions, unpopular decisions.

As a general rule, I’m the Likable Pastor. I always have been. I can get along with most anyone, from most any background. I’ve loved pastoring cowboys and corporate executives, learning something unique from both sets of people—and all the many groups in between. Some have pointed out this is a personality feature—both positive and negative. It’s positive in the sense that it makes me appear affable and approachable. It’s negative in the sense that it may signify I don’t have a strong enough sense of self to really “fit” in any one location. Perhaps both are true. I’ve certainly been at home in the nation’s fourth (third?) largest city and in towns of just a few thousand. I’ve usually attributed it to an aphorism—bloom where you’re planted.

But the truth is I might simply be one to blend in where I’m planted.

I can be a social chameleon. I know this about myself. I can slide easily into the roles of Scholar, Professional, or Good ‘Ol Boy, often not stopping to ask which of those personas is actually the God-created version of Me.

The desire to be loved, to be wanted, and to be liked is my great Achille’s heel. It has been for some time.

And it has often made it difficult for me to be a pastor.

If you’re the one who is always nervously—almost unconsciously—morphing yourself into the version you think will be most effective for the moment, if you are always almost reflexively and intuitively calculating your words and actions so that others will find you Likable, you will find that most of your life is excellent.

Most of it.

But—as in all lives—there comes Unavoidable Conflict. And it is not possible to navigate Unavoidable Conflict and to maintain the persona of Likable.

I know this from experience.

All too real of experience.

And so, at some point, you must make a decision. Or have a hard conversation. Or tell someone no. Or whatever.

When you do, you must stand on principles and wisdom. You must be guided by what is right and what is good, not on what will make you Likable.

After the fact, you believe that others will understand, even those who were opposed to your decision.

That belief is misguided. Because those people will not understand. Those people will say things. They will revise what actually took place in conversation. They will talk to anyone and everyone who will listen. They will seek to garner support. They will take to social media.

And, most of the time, you cannot defend yourself.

It’s not that I am incapable of defending myself. I’m quite good at arguing. I know because both my mother and my wife have told me so—albeit twenty years apart. It is instead that I know when I defend myself, I usually have mixed motives. I know that defending myself will usually veer me into the territory of gossip. I know that defending myself will usually require me to denigrate others—and I usually love those others (Ephesians 4:29: “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.”). I know that defending myself will usually only extend the argument, and I’m to work for peace (Romans 12:18: “As far as it depends upon you, live peaceably with others.”) I want to defend myself, because I want to be Likable. “If people only knew what really happened,” I’ll think to myself, then everyone would like me. They wouldn’t take the side of that other person. That wrong person.

Of course, then there’s the other part, the professional hazard. Anything I say will be used against me. Pastors are supposed to be the example of Jesus. And when you start pointing out the flaws in others, you’re suddenly held to a standard that others are not.

It’s a tightrope, to be sure.

I want so desperately to be Likable…and yet there are moments when that isn’t possible.

What to do?

Thank God for wise friends. I talk this over with one of them. He’s older than me, a role model—someone I look to when I need guidance. He’s been a pastor. He knows the ropes.

He puts it simply.

“Steve, you can’t say anything. But you can turn to this Scripture. I have, many times, over the years. And you should, too.” I was anticipating Exodus 14:14. But no. He points me to 1 Peter 2:23, instead. “When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly.”

Not reviling and not threatening are good. It’s like me not gossiping, like me not insisting on defending myself.

But in those instances I’m still clinging to myself, to my being Likable.

I’m still making it about myself.

I need to entrust justice to the One who judges justly.

I’m not always able to do that well.

But I’m going to keep trying.