The other day, Desiring God tweeted a quote from John Owen about the principal duty of a pastor. The tweet alone was challenging. I decided to pull the full Owen quote up in context. It is indeed more challenging than the tweet version.

The first and principal duty of a pastor is to feed the flock by diligent preaching of the word. It is a promise relating to the new testament, that God would give unto his church “pastors according to his own heart, which should feed them with knowledge and understanding,” Jer. 3:15. This is by teaching or preaching the word, and no otherwise. This feeding is of the essence of the office of a pastor, as unto the exercise of it; so that he who doth not, or can not, or will not feed the flock is no pastor, whatever outward call or work he any have in the church. The care of preaching the gospel was committed to Peter, and in him unto all true pastors of the church, under the name of “feeding,” John 21:15–17. According to the example of the apostles, they are to free themselves from all encumbrances, that they may give themselves wholly unto the word and prayer, Acts 6:1–4. Their work is “to labour in the word and doctrine,” 1 Tim. 5:17; and thereby to “feed the flock over which the Holy Ghost hath made them overseers,” Acts 20:28: and it is that which is everywhere given them in charge.

This work and duty, therefore, as was said, is essential unto the office of a pastor. A man is a pastor unto them whom he feeds by pastoral teaching, and to no more; and he that doth not so feed is no pastor. Nor is it required only that he preach now and then at his leisure, but that he lay aside all other employments, though lawful, all other duties in the church, as unto such a constant attendance on them as would divert him from this work, that he give himself unto it,—that he be in these things labouring to the utmost of his ability. Without this no man will be able to give a comfortable account of the pastoral office at the last day.

John Owen, vol. 16, The Works of John Owen., ed. William H. Goold (Edinburg: T&T Clark), 74-75.

So, pastors, what do you think?

In reading Life of Owen, I came across a great section where Thomas points out the importance of actually living life. He says (emphasis mine),

A wish has sometimes been expressed, that men who, like Owen, have contributed so largely to the enriching of our theological literature, could have been spared the endless avocations of public life, and allowed to devote themselves almost entirely to authorship. But the wisdom of this sentiment is very questionable. Experience seems to testify that a certain amount of contact with the business of practical life is necessary to the highest style of thought and authorship; and that minds, when left to undisturbed literary leisure, are apt to degenerate into habits of diseased speculation and sickly fastidiousness. Most certainly the works that have come from men of monastic habits have done little for the world, compared with the writings of those who have ever been ready to obey the voice which summoned them away from tranquil studies to breast the storms and guide the movements of great social conflicts. The men who have lived the most earnestly for their own age, have also lived the most usefully for posterity. Owen’s retirement from the vice-chancellorship may indeed be regarded as a most seasonable relief from the excess of public engagement; but it may be confidently questioned whether he would have written so much or so well, had his intellect and heart been, in any great degree, cut off from the stimulus which the struggles and stern realities of life gave to them.

John Owen, vol. 1, The Works of John Owen., ed. William H. Goold (Edinburg: T&T Clark), lxviii.

There is something so true about this text. Those who retreat from the realities of life themselves seem to have little to add to the realities of life of others. Shear brilliance, without engaging the world, seems to have little value.

John Owen, the 17th century pastor and theologian, apparently doesn’t take any crap from smart @$$ kids who decide they can do whatever they want to in the classroom. After taking over as vice-chancellor of the University of Oxford, amidst a time of hardship which included a nearly empty treasury, mounting debt, and many empty halls and colleges being closed, Owen set out to bring order to the licentious and insubordinate attitude that had covered much of the university. He was given occasion to prove who was in charge of the university early on, as Andrew Thomas recounts in his Life of Owen:

But, amid these generous and conciliatory measures, Owen knew how, by acts of wholesome severity, to put a curb upon licentiousness, and to invigorate the whole discipline of the university. At a public Act, when one of the students of Trinity College was Terrœ filius, he stood up before the student began, and told him in Latin that he was at liberty to say what he pleased, on condition that he abstained from all profane and obscene expressions and personal reflections. The student began, but soon violated all the conditions that had been laid down to him. Owen repeatedly warned him to desist from a course so dishonouring to the university; but the youth obstinately persisting in the same strain, he at length commanded the beadles to pull him down. This was a signal for the students to interpose; on which Owen, determined that the authority of the university should not be insolently trampled on, rose from his seat, in the face of the remonstrances of his friends, who were concerned for his personal safety, drew the offender from his place with his own hand, and committed him to Bocardo, the prison of the university,—the students meanwhile standing aloof with amazement and fear at his resolution. Was there not something, in this scene, of that robust physical energy which had distinguished Owen at Oxford in earlier days in bell-ringing and the leaping of bars?

John Owen, vol. 1, The Works of John Owen., ed. William H. Goold (Edinburg: T&T Clark), li–lii.

But it wasn’t by mere force that Owen sought to bring peace and order to the Oxford. He knew that it was only through the gospel that the students and university had any true hope.

But the aims of the vice-chancellor rose far above the mere attempt to restrain licentiousness within moderate bounds;—his whole arrangements were made with the anxious desire of awakening and fostering among the students the power of a living piety. His own example, as well as the pervading spirit of his administration, would contribute much to this; and there are not wanting individual facts to show with what earnestness he watched and laboured for the religious wellbeing of the university. It had been customary for the Fellows to preach by turns on the afternoon of the Lord’s day in St Mary’s Church; but, on its being found that the highest ends of preaching were often more injured than advanced by this means, he determined to undertake this service alternately with Dr Goodwin, the head of Magdalen College, and in this way to secure to the youth of Oxford the advantage of a sound and serious ministry. It is interesting to open, nearly two hundred years afterwards, the reminiscences of one of the students, and to read his strong and grateful testimony to the benefits he had derived from these arrangements of the Puritan vice-chancellor. We have this privilege in the “Memoir of Philip Henry, by his son.” “He would often mention, with thankfulness to God,” says the quaint and pious biographer, “what great helps and advantages he had then in the university,—not only for learning, but for religion and piety. Serious godliness was in reputation; and, besides the public opportunities they had, many of the scholars used to meet together for prayer and Christian conference, to the great confirming of one another’s hearts in the fear and love of God, and the preparing of them for the service of the church in their generation. I have heard him speak of the prudent method they took then about the university sermons on the Lord’s day, in the afternoon, which used to be preached by the fellows of colleges in their course; but that being found not so much for edification, Dr Owen and Dr Goodwin performed that service alternately, and the young masters that were wont to preach it had a lecture on Tuesday appointed them.”

John Owen, vol. 1, The Works of John Owen., ed. William H. Goold (Edinburg: T&T Clark), lii.

I love that John Owen took his charge seriously. It was out of his concern for the spiritual well being of the students that he risked injury and disgrace by physically removing a rebellious student from the class. It was the very same concern that caused him to labor in the teaching and preaching of the gospel. May we have more preachers with “the anxious desire of awakening and fostering among the students [church] the power of a living piety.”

*Photo from Washington Post.

There are a lot of “rock-star” pastors these days. But, that’s nothing new. Heck, even before podcasts, blogs, and Twitter, people flocked to hear the big name preachers of their day (See: Whitfield, Spurgeon, Wesley, Finny, ect). It would seem that this can be traced all the way back to the early church where camps were forming around Paul and Apollos. (1 Corinthians 3:4)

One of the great problems with idolizing or over emphasizing a particular preacher, is that you often do so at the expense of hear what many other great preachers, like maybe the one in your church, has to say. This point was really brought home today as I was reading a biography on the great reformer, John Owen. It would appear that John himself was inclined to go and hear a “rock-star” of his day and, when a no-name preacher showed up, Owen almost missed out on hearing the very message that stirred his soul to God.

But the time had come when the burden was to fall from Owen’s shoulders; and few things in his life are more truly interesting than the means by which it was unloosed. Dr Edmund Calamy was at this time minister in Aldermanbury Chapel, and attracted multitudes by his manly eloquence. Owen had gone one Sabbath morning to hear the celebrated Presbyterian preacher, and was much disappointed when he saw an unknown stranger from the country enter the pulpit. His companion suggested that they should leave the chapel, and hasten to the place of worship of another celebrated preacher; but Owen’s strength being already exhausted, he determined to remain. After a prayer of simple earnestness, the text was announced in these words of Matt. 8:26, “Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?” Immediately it arrested the thoughts of Owen as appropriate to his present state of mind, and he breathed an inward prayer that God would be pleased by that minister to speak to his condition. The prayer was heard, for the preacher stated and answered the very doubts that had long perplexed Owen’s mind; and by the time that the discourse was ended, had succeeded in leading him forth into the sunshine of a settled peace. The most diligent efforts were used by Owen to discover the name of the preacher who had thus been to him “as an angel of God,” but without success.

John Owen, vol. 1, The Works of John Owen., ed. William H. Goold (Edinburg: T&T Clark), xxx–xxxi.

Reader, you don’t need a rock star preacher. Find a pastor that preaches God’s Word faithfully, and listen. It is likely God will use that preacher in far greater ways that a rock star.

Note: I grabbed the image of John Owen from Ocean’s Bridge. If you want to buy me a copy of the painting, I think the 72″x88″ one would be sweet! The original was was painted by John Greenhill and is currently in National Portrait Gallery, London.