From the ages of 8-18, I had one goal in life: to become the number one tennis player my age in the state of Texas.

The good news is that it actually happened. After a string of second place finishes, I finally won it all when I was 17. I liked it well enough that I did it again a year later.

The bad news is that with that mindset developed at such a young age, I tend to look at other people in my life the same way I looked at other Texas tennis players: as rivals. As the competition.

Enter the world of preaching.

One of the great things about the city of Charlotte is that there are so many good churches, often led by rather remarkable pastors.

Some of them are spellbinding speakers who are leaders within their own denominations, others are close personal friends who live what they preach better than most, still others are nationally-known phenoms, while some are key leaders in my own Methodist tribe, and quite a few are just plain nice people.

That's the good news.

The bad news is when I view people on that list as rivals and competitors. Because in any kind of competition, I'll "win" in some areas and "lose" in others.

When I view Good Shepherd as a fiefdom, I inhibit the advancement of the kingdom.

Because, as Paul would remind me, my fellow clergy and I are not adversaries; we're co-laborers.

I write all this today because I believe God has been doing a work in me in recent months. Some of it has been his direct hand in my heart. The other part of his work comes from the book I've referenced before: Church Unique. Not church identical. Not church template. Church Unique.

What's true of congregations is true of pastors. Pastor Unique. Each of us a mixture of strength and weakness, flaws and beauty, spirit and flesh.

Each worthy of others celebrating the good work God does in their lives and in their congregations.

And none of us ranked #1 in this or any other city.

I had lunch with someone from the church this past week who encouraged me to "trust the God in others."

As it turned out, the timing -- and the advice -- could not have been better.

Because yesterday at Good Shepherd was a first of its kind: an invitation to "salvation by grace" in all environments of the church, from the "grown ups" in the Worship Center to the students at BigHouse, and, most powerfully, the children throughout the KidVentures ministries.

Which meant that the dozens of children's ministry volunteers -- from tech support to worship leaders to drama actors to class leaders -- had to be equipped in, as we Methodists say, "offering Christ" to the kids.

And then the volunteers had to be trusted to do just that.

And so they were prepared.

And so we did trust.

All morning long, the volunteers kept giving me reports of how many children gave their lives to Jesus and how empowered they as leaders felt in issuing the invitation.

So we trusted the God richly resident in our volunteers. And He came through.

Wisdom given, advice followed, God glorified.

I admit that I have an uneasy relationship with the uniquely Southern, Protestant tradition of the "altar call": the invitation for people to come forward at the end of the service to surrender their lives to Christ.

The source of my ambivalence? Well, on the one hand, I recall a conversation I had with a good church friend several years ago. And he asked me, "Why don't you have an altar call every Sunday? After all, whenever our Lord spoke, he always had one."

Really? When Jesus spoke, he always gave an altar call?

Well, no. I feel quite sure Jesus never even heard "Just As I Am." The altar call is a modern development. Jesus' public addresses followed no prescribed formula; they were designed simultaneously to comfort AND to infuriate. He did call for response, but not at an altar in a decisive moment of faith.

So the misinformation on the part of my friend contributed to my suspicion.

As does the reality that there are many creative ways to conclude a time of worship together . . . including those that make the message "stick" with the entire congregation, not just the ones who are weighing a faith decision in their minds.

Yet in contrast to my mixed emotions, consider what happened this past Sunday at Good Shepherd. At the conclusion of a message of personal boundaries as the basis for parental boundaries -- "You can only give what you already have" -- we opened up the altar.

We gave people whose lives are out of control the opportunity to place their lives under the Lordship of Jesus.

And at 11:30, people started coming. And coming. And coming. Young and old. Skeptic and seeker. Black, white, Hispanic, and Asian. We invited all kinds of people into a living relationship with a reigning Savior, and they responded.

So we've spent much of the week following up on those decisions made at our altar on Sunday morning.

I don't want to confine God to a formula, so we'll always be flexible when it comes to altar calls.

But I want to give the Spirit space to run in people's lives and this kind of follow up this week . . . well, that's what being a pastor is all about.

In reading David Browne's Fire And Rain, a musical & cultural exploration of the pivotal-but-overlooked year of 1970, I learned some interesting factoids about Simon & Garfunkel's iconic Bridge Over Troubled Water.

For example, did you know that Simon originally wanted a shorter, quieter song without the "Sail on silver girl . . ." verse which brings it to its anthemic conclusion?

Or did you know that the stress of writing and recording the entire album ultimately led to S&G's breakup?

Or most interestingly, did you know that when it came to Bridge, Paul Simon wrote the lyrics, composed the melody, oversaw the arrangements . . . and then handed it all off to Art Garfunkel for the vocals? He knew that Garfunkel's crystal clear, impossibly high sound could bring home the song much better than his own quietly ironic voice.

How is that like ministry?

When those of us in pastoral ministry get it right, we cast the vision, plow the ground, make the arrangements, and then allow people in the church actually to carry out the ministry . . . which they can often do better than we do.

It's as true for praying over the sick as it is for planning a pot luck. It's as applicable to counseling the grieving as to stuffing envelopes.

My most rewarding moments as a pastor come when people take a raw idea of mine and then launch it miles further than I ever could.

In other words, when they take a Paul Simon melody and turn it into an Art Garfunkel masterpiece.