In
yesterday’s post, I admitted being complicit (i.e., “an accomplice”) in a religious
practice that has damaged my family, parishioners, congregations, and
denomination. The same has happened to and through countless other church
leaders. But I need to be clear, with myself, about that from which I have
repented.
You’re
welcome to read along.
In
the 1980s and 90s, church leaders were sometimes trained to see our “target
audience” as “consumers of religious goods and services.” At other times, we
were to evaluate our congregations by applying “the Pareto Principle,”
investing 80% of our time in the 20% who showed promise as “producers of
additional disciples.” We were taught to motivate donors to open their various
“pockets” in support of ministry expenses, while professional clergy did “the
real job.” Those who were unable to finance our ministries were still valuable
as “cogs in the wheels of our programs.” (Never underestimate how many
“volunteers” the average church event requires!) And even before my first
Sunday as a pastor (September 11, 1983), I understood that whatever I thought
about persons, their needs, and their growth as Christian disciples, it was their status as “statistics
to be reported to headquarters” that would largely determine my “success” or
“failure” as a pastor.
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These work. So does a "Free Beer" sign. |
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I
was sorely tempted, and I yielded. At least monthly, filling out those reports,
I reduced persons to something less
than divinely-beloved human beings. Why?
Our lofty goals demanded it. There
were more important measures of ministry. We were going to “Bring Back the King!”
I
was part of a movement that sought to radically and rapidly multiply our
churches and adherents. We planted one hundred churches across North America—all on the same day—coinciding with the 100th
anniversary of our denomination’s founding. Without a hint of irony, A Movement for God, from our office of
National Church Ministries, refers to “the ‘Easter 100’ church planting offensive.” Though many of those
attempts (over half, in the district I was then serving) quickly withered
without establishing viable congregations, we pressed on. Simultaneously awed
by our “success” and bizarrely attracted to rhyming our marketing slogans, we
sought to plant “A Thousand More by ’94.”
I’m
not kidding about the rhyming. I was serving as a pastor, and as regional
extension assistant for our district. While attending our denomination’s annual
meetings, I mentioned the results of having “planted” one hundred churches in
one year, and asked the National Director of Church Growth how we established
the time-line for planting 143% of that number, per year, for seven years
straight. Again, I heard no irony in his answer to my question, “Why do we
think we can do this by 1994?” He said, “Because it rhymes.”
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One size fits some. Offends others. |
Years
ago, Lyle Schaller addressed church-growth, seeker-sensitive, statistics-driven
acolytes like me. He claimed, “We count people because people count.” But what
I was told and trained to really count on
was the need for numbers. Otherwise,
my “ministry” would not be considered a success, and my “career” would stall.
And so I counted and reported what some call “nickels and noses” or “butts in
the pew and bucks in the plate.” But even as I filed my monthly, quarterly, and
annual reports to the parent corporation, I found that I couldn’t resist the
time-consuming, face-to-face, limited-return-on-investment pastoral practices
of preaching, teaching, visitation, and counseling. Thus, I “neglected to
transition,” in Schaller’s terms, from being a “shepherd” to a “farmer” to a
“rancher” and beyond.
I
couldn’t complain about a stalled career. I knew that some were watching theirs
end, and abruptly at that.
My
friend, the church-growth director, shared that we were destroying the ministry
careers of more than half of our church-planting pastors. He said, “When these
churches don’t survive, I send the pastors’ resumes out to all our district
superintendents. The superintendents don’t even return my phone calls. There’s
nobody who’ll even talk to these
pastors. They’re dead meat.” Since I
was serving a struggling church-plant at the time, I had to ask: “So, what
about folks who have a successful track record, but the church they’re planting
doesn’t survive?” He didn’t turn toward me when he said it: “Well, you’re
probably not dead meat. But you’d
certainly be horse meat.” And soon I
was. But I got over it. I got back in the saddle, after being horse meat. I’m
glad I did. Not everyone got that opportunity.
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Much cuter than any pictures of actual horse meat. |
But
still, to be accurate, I need to clearly state: I “was” part of what I still call “our”
denomination. I am repentant from my attitudes and actions as part of the
church-planting/church-growth/seeker-sensitive focus of our movement. And yet I
still own that this is “our” problem. How does that work? Am I or aren’t I in
or out?
Today,
some of my former colleagues sigh sadly and wonder how it is that a young man
with such promising skills ended up tucked away in the boondocks. Why have I
been relegated to serving a small, rural mountain community? What did I do to
be ostracized by the denomination that upholds my ordination, but refuses to
license me to “that place?”
I
honestly believe that the answer to those questions is simple: I began to
listen carefully, and to hear my calling—not only my calling as a pastor, but
to be the pastor of The Glenburn Community Church! I have sought to obey Jesus
Christ in fulfilling my ministry as a servant to others for His sake (II Cor. 4:5). I don’t always
do it as well as I’d like. But I also tend not to forget that those I serve,
and serve with, are persons.
And
persons are not the stuff that careers are made of. But when the “career” I’m
living is over, I trust that many of the persons
I choose to serve will receive me into “the eternal dwellings” (Luke 16:9).
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If ever there was a place where horse meat tasted "just like chicken," this has to be it. |