I recently heard a pastor-teacher say, "We can get so wrapped up in what God is doing through us that we neglect what God needs to do in us."

So true. Guilty as charged.

Pastorally speaking, it is easy to become enamored with all the things God does through us: lead some people to faith, help other people cope with grief, challenge still others to deeper discipleship, and create space where faith-centered relationships can flourish. That kind of work is energizing, exciting, and, yes, exhausting.

But the work of ministry can make pastors (me!) neglect the work God yearns to do in us. Is God making me more faithful? Am I allowing him to grow compassion in me? Is he purifying my thoughts? Making holy my motives? Or . . . ouch . . . is he making me more loving?

In short, am I smoking what I'm selling?

I don't want to go through the motions. I don't want to be effective but empty.

Father, do in me what desperately needs to be done.

Every so often, someone will ask me, "How many members do you all have over there at Good Shepherd?"

The truth is, I don't know.

That's because membership is an inaccurate measure of church health. The typical church in United Methodism, for example, has about three times the number of members as it has in average Sunday attendance. So is a church with 1,000 members and 300 in average attendance a church of 1,000 or 300? It's a church of 300. It might have 1,000 names on a piece of paper somewhere but only 300 living bodies involved in the church.

In fact, in our verbal and written communication at Good Shepherd, we rarely use the word "member." That term can make church life sound like an exclusive club and leave non-members wondering, "Do I belong yet?"

Instead, we talk about "the people of Good Shepherd." It is much more important to us that people belong here -- meaning they are part of the active life of the church -- than it is that they have joined here.

Which is why our average attendance is well above our actual membership.

Worship attendance and movement into group life & servant ministry are far more important statistics to determine the health and size of a church.

So if you ask me what our average attendance is for 2009 . . . I know that. If you ask me how many are showing up at First Serve or Pathfinder . . . I know that.

Because I'd rather see people in person than on paper any time.

This July, I will begin my 20th year of full-time ministry.

Over that time, I've learned many, many lessons. Some of them with great joy. Others with great pain.

So I share one with you today. This one is especially for pastors and church leaders. It's this.

Any time someone new shows up in your church, showers you with flattery as a pastor/teacher and offers comments about how their previous minister let them down or couldn't preach or made them mad, it means one thing:

You're next on the list.

So don't be puffed up. Be careful.

Preachers and Mondays. An interesting combination.

A lot of pastors take Mondays off.

But somewhere along the way, someone told me that pastors who do take Mondays off have a higher rate of clinical depression than those who don't. I have no way of verifying that claim, but I've accepted it as fact nevertheless. Something about going from the adrenaline-high of Sunday directly into nothing on Monday and how that dramatic a shift leads to depression. It sounded logical, so I bought it.

So I work on Mondays. Actually, if I didn't, I'd feel like I was playing catch-up the rest of the week.

I used to spend Monday morning writing hand-written notes to our first-time guests. These days, I feel better doing that particular task on Sunday nights.

That frees up Mondays for message preparation, counseling, visiting, and blogging. Oh yeah, blogging. I'll do some of all of those today.

Bob Geldof of LiveAid fame may have sung "I Don't Like Mondays" (a lighthearted song about a very dark event), but I like them just fine.

A few weeks ago, I was at a seminar about churches, leadership, and pastors. During the presentation, the leader said, "Newcomers to churches know how much better it is to get an email from a pastor than a visit from him."

The line got a good laugh.

But it got me wondering: Is the generational shift that dramatic? Has the paradigm changed that much?

My first District Superintendent (way back in 1990) gave me a three point message the day he met me: Visit your people. Visit your people. Visit your people.

So I did. I didn't know any better. I believe it helped change a tiny little church in Monroe, North Carolina into a nice-sized one in nine years. (By the way, that "three point message" was the extent of the DS training I got as a new pastor, but that's another post for another time.)

But now, in a different century and a different setting, would people really rather receive an email than a personal visit from me or from other pastors?

I don't know. All I know is that on those occasions when I do make an old-fashioned, in-home visit with a family -- like this week when I dropped by to speak with a couple about a dedication service for their baby -- that's when I feel most alive, most like a bona fide pastor of a church and proclaimer of the gospel. I also have a sneaking suspicion that people are grateful for pastoral interest, regardless of what generation they come from.

Maybe I'm just old-fashioned.

But maybe not.