Poet and Pragmatist?

This article is going to be much different from previous ones. Less tidy, more of a wrestle. More meditation than manifesto. This isn’t a new wrestle, but it does feel more acute these days than it has before. Maybe it flows out of my INTJ personality, or something unique from my upbringing, but I imagine I’m not alone in this tension.

There is a part of me that wants to be a mystic, a philosopher, a poet. This part craves intimacy with God, slowed-down spirituality, and a heart full of wonder and awe. It wants to read widely, walk slowly, and look people in the eyes.

There’s another part of me that wants to be missionally effective. It loves vision, strategy, and Kingdom advancement. This part wants to read Patrick Lencioni, John Maxwell, and Ed Stetzer. It believes order is a pathway to flourishing and takes the Great Commission with deep seriousness.

These categories probably aren’t as clear-cut as they sound. They overlap in a beautiful, though sometimes gray, way.

Is there a way to blend the mystic and the missiologist? To be both poet and pragmatist? Philosopher and philanthropist? Can I read Tolkien and James Clear? Maybe this is just a personal longing, but it might also be the path forward for the modern pastor.

When I look at the lives of saints throughout church history, both recent and distant, I see glimmers of both. Not a problem to solve, but a tension to manage. These are the saints I’m drawn to: Tim Keller, John Piper, C.S. Lewis, Francis Schaeffer, John Wesley, Jonathan Edwards, Augustine, the Apostle Paul, and Jesus Himself.

When I go all in on the mystical, there is a potency and richness of life that feels like the closest thing to ecstasy this side of addiction. But if that joy doesn’t overflow into the good of others, it can turn inward. The monkish life can seem like the narrow way, but what if it benefits no one beyond the mystic? I eventually find that joyful intimacy slips away in isolation and only returns on the battlefield.

When I go all in on mission and pragmatics, there is a wild effectiveness that whispers revival might be possible. But when it’s all mission and little wonder, the words of Jesus still haunt me: “Your heart is far from me.” This path may promise maximum fruitfulness, but if my soul is withering, what do I really have to give? Countless “effective” spiritual leaders with moral failures have shown us that perceived fruitfulness without faithfulness does the Kingdom little good.

So where do we go from here?

Many will choose one side or the other. Some will become monkish mystics, devoted to spiritual practices with little missional engagement. Others will become productive pragmatists, leading larger-than-average ministries but perhaps carrying smaller-than-average awe.

I don’t think we have to choose.

I think there’s a path forward that holds together the mystic and the missiologist, the poet and the pragmatist. A way to craft a life marked by deep intimacy and meaningful work, while also leading healthy organizations that genuinely impact many lives. A path that embraces what C.S. Lewis called “omnivorous attentiveness” alongside revival fire.

Just as a previous generation discovered they didn’t have to choose between ministry and family, perhaps the next generation of pastors will realize we don’t have to choose between fruitfulness and full, lasting joy.

What are you learning about this?