Pastoring a church in a small West Texas town gave me what some might call "the ideal incubator" for a young minister. Those people simply loved me and my little family, patiently endured my frequent missteps, and generally went out of their way to encourage me. If I did justice to a Bible passage in my sermon they would wring my hand or touch my shoulder and say, “Keep it up, Pastor.”
If I fell on my face and made a hash of the message, they would shake my hand just as warmly and tell me it was “a good word,” or maybe, “We’re praying for you, Pastor.”
I came to rely on that loving grace, but it didn’t change the personal disappointment I felt over messing up or stumbling through a sermon. On one Sunday night I remember being particularly crestfallen and discouraged. I had preached on the subject of biblical “meekness,” without really realizing the true depth of that term.
I had wanted to explain how real biblical meekness—the kind Jesus and the apostle Paul talked about—wasn’t weakness at all. In fact, it was the God-given ability to endure difficult and trying circumstances with patience, good humor, and a steady faith.
Walking up to the pulpit that night, I thought I had a pretty good handle on it. But ten minutes into the message, I felt lost at sea. I could tell from the vacant expressions and restless twitching of the congregation that I wasn’t connecting. Not at all. And the more I waded into my lengthy explanations, the foggier my words became.
Finally, to everyone’s relief, I announced a closing hymn.
That night I tossed and turned in bed, thinking about all I could have said or should have said, and wishing in vain for a do-over.
Back in those days, most of the men in our church worked in some aspect of farming, ranching, or the oil industry. A handful still worked as fulltime cowboys. One of those cowboys—a wise and weathered bronc rider and trainer—also happened to be a serious Bible student. It wasn’t unusual for him to drop by the church or take me out to lunch to discuss some aspect of my Sunday message. You might think these sessions would have been intimidating for a youthful, inexperienced preacher, but Cowboy Paul’s gentle, practical insights always came wrapped up in encouragement. When he called me on the Monday morning after my Sunday night embarrassment, I was more than ready to hear what he had to say.
“Let’s go to breakfast,” he said.
After a hearty Texas platter of bacon, eggs, potatoes in the local diner, my friend leaned forward a little and launched into his thoughts. I could tell from the twinkle in his eyes that he was pretty excited about it.
“It’s like this, Pastor,” he began. “Out on our ranch, as you know, we’re still in the business of breaking wild horses. It isn’t easy. In fact, it can get mighty rough. But even in our day folks around the country still need reliable horses for rounding up stock, rodeos, big-city police work, national parks, riding stables—and in all sorts of other places.”
“That’s right,” I agreed, knowing that if anyone understood the worth and capabilities of a good horse, it was Paul.
He went on. “But here’s the issue, Pastor. Those horses are flat-out determined—with all that’s in ‘em—not to be broke or tamed by anyone. You’ve been out on my ranch and watched it for yourself. If you manage to get on a wild stallion’s back, he’ll just go crazy, and unleash with all he’s got. If a wild bucking spree doesn’t launch you into the corral dust, he’ll run straight for the fence and try to slam you against the rails. I’ve even seen ‘em try several quick rollovers, hoping to crush the cowboy on their back. I guess the grand finale is when the horse throws itself in the air and comes down on its back with the full force of 1,200 pounds. That cowboy’s lying there with the breath knocked out of him, wondering if he’s still alive. When he finally staggers to his feet, feeling his ribs to see if they’re all in the right places, that horse might circle back and let loose with a powerful kick of its hind legs.
“Bottom line, that stallion wants to be wild, wants to run free, and will do anything to keep from being broken—even killing cowboys if he gets a chance. That’s why so many of us are crippled and have broken bones.”
He added with a grin, “And we’ve all been kicked in the head so many times that we don’t have sense enough to quit.”
The waitress filled our coffee cups. I knew what was coming. Paul was working up to an insight on the biblical concept of meekness. All I had to do was sip my coffee and hold on for the ride.
“We cowboys consider ourselves true artists,” he said, “because there’s a fine line between bringing that powerful animal under control—which you want to do—and breaking its spirit—which you don’t want to do.”
Paul went on to explain that a wild stallion has many wonderful, God-given qualities and incredible potential for good. It has great energy and strength along with liveliness, intelligence, fervor, and intensity. In its unbroken state, however, the animal is completely uncontrollable. It is fierce, violent, reckless, and basically useless to anyone. The trainer’s job, he explained, is to separate the horse from its negative, destructive attributes without quenching the positive assets that it make it so extremely valuable to everyone.
It’s a matter of channeling all of that energy and potential into a positive, productive direction. It’s a matter of bringing great strength under control.
And that, my friend concluded, was the underlying idea behind the Bible term “meekness.”
In Matthew 5:5, Jesus said, “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” Was Jesus suggesting that we all become wimps or doormats? Not at all. The root of the Greek word praus was used in those times to describe a soothing medicine, a mighty wind that has subsided into a breeze, or the process of breaking a wild horse.
It’s taking something vigorous, dynamic, and very strong and bringing it under the control of our wise Creator.
On the human level, imagine a highly-gifted but self-destructive individual who possesses seemingly limitless potential, but ends up sabotaging his opportunities and hurting everyone around him—including himself and the people he loves most. When that person comes to Christ, finally surrendering to Jesus Christ and accepting the control of the Holy Spirit, his old nature is broken. His gifts, abilities and personality strengths, however, now under divine control, benefit more people than ever—and advance God’s kingdom on earth.
He is meek, but not weak.
He is under control and under discipline, but not diminished.
As one writer described it, “meekness is curbing the ‘natural’ desires to rebel, fight, have our own way, or push ourselves forward. We submit to the Lord in obedience to His will.”
Cowboy Paul pointed out that the only two people described in Scripture as “meek” were Moses and Jesus Christ Himself. And neither one was weak or a doormat to anyone.
Finishing our breakfast, we walked out into the warm Texas sunshine and the veteran rancher stuck out a strong, callused hand to firmly grip my own. He had some fences to mend and some horses to break, and I had another sermon to rope and wrangle—and hopefully one that would find its mark. It wasn’t easy for me in those days, but it gave me a good feeling to know I had some sturdy, seasoned mentors who believed in me and had my back.