Minding Your Own Business: Why Our Opposition to Others Says So Much about Us

So many. So angry. So often.

The people who need this most are least likely to read it. I accept that. Sadly. But it may be that you have some influence with them. If so, then that makes two (or more) of us trying to replace diatribe with dialogue. In fact, though, “diatribe” is too kind a word. Defined by Oxford Living Dictionaries, a diatribe is “a forceful and bitter verbal attack against someone or something.”

Enmity’s litany has become liturgy on social media. It is not just that hateful name-calling is so endlessly repeated. There is a predictable order of claims and counterclaims following every new development. And periodically, just as with liturgical churches’ adherence to the three-year rotation of the lectionary, we complete a cycle of all the cardinal doctrines on each side, only to begin again.

The attacks are forceful and bitter. But are these forceful and bitter verbal attacks truly against someone or something? This is where I think the Oxford definition fails us. Because the attacks are against hollow shells, mere emblems of underlying hatred. In logic class they call it “the straw-man argument” when we misrepresent another’s position in order to more easily defeat it. The “ad-hominem” argument goes a step further and misrepresents other human persons as being so inherently wrong that any statement they present must be impossible to support.

As in the two prior posts in this series, I advise us to engage one another in dialogue, and determine to overcome the misunderstandings, and certain the misrepresentations. Before I tell you why I choose to pursue these dialogues, let me offer the hope I see for a remedy.

Though the Oxford definition is inadequate to describe the full extent of these hateful exchanges, it is also where I believe we may find the remedy. We readily offer diatribe against either persons for holding impossible positions on the issues (at least the way our “straw-man” misrepresents them), or against issues as being impossible to support because of those affiliated with them (at least the way our “ad-hominem” attacks choose to willfully misunderstand them).  The remedy I recommend is a renewed pursuit of relationships, indeed fellowship. Not just within the limitations of Church fellowship, but on the basis of solidarity among all human persons as created to bear the image and likeness of one God eternally existing in three Persons. (See previous posts in this series for some context.)

What the Bible teaches about fellowship is helpful to acknowledge here. True fellowship cannot help but be authentic, transparent, and vulnerable. To be authentic, I believe, means that if I say it, it should be true. To be transparent means that if it is true, I should say it. And that clearly leaves me vulnerable, since many will disparage me for the positions I hold, and attack the positions themselves merely because I am the one holding them.

Why do it, then? I choose to pursue these dialogues, primarily because of the role to which Christians are called as ambassadors. We are supposed to be representing the nature and character of Jesus Christ in a culture where He is often both misunderstood and misrepresented. I am deeply troubled by both those misunderstandings and the misrepresentations. I am even more troubled by the fact that I recognize both those misunderstandings and misrepresentations in both groups: those who claim to be followers of Jesus Christ, and those who do not. Worse, I see those who claim to be followers of Jesus Christ willfully misrepresenting others’ positions, which suggests strongly that these “Christians” patently misunderstand the Lord they claim to serve.

And so, a secondary reason I pursue these dialogues so vigorously is this: so many others who claim to be followers of Jesus Christ are so deeply engaged in such vehement diatribe as to discourage mere contact with Christians. This means that those who may actually seek understanding and a representation of Jesus Christ are less likely to attend where such “followers” are more likely to gather (a lot of churches, mostly). As a result, all of us are effectively being excluded from environments in which the kind of fellowship I have described is most likely to occur.

So, in case I have not been clear, I will continue to pursue dialogue, even with those who continue to propagate diatribe. And when you ask, as you likely will, “Why are you sticking your nose into my business?” I will direct you to these three posts.

Your Business, and Why I Stick My Nose into It

You may have noticed from my social media involvement that I seek dialogue with those of you whose beliefs differ from mine. That is, I stick my nose into your business. I pray that I do so in a way that is respectful of your human personhood, even when I question the conclusions you reach or even the evidence you cite in support of your conclusions.

I do this for several reasons.

One reason is intellectual curiosity. I enjoy using my brain. Therefore, statements of belief especially pique my interest. Over the past half-century, I have come to some very definite conclusions (“dogmatic beliefs”) about certain things. About others, I am still weighing evidence, seeking to arrive at an actionable conclusion (i.e., I want to understand what the true, right, and good position is so that I can appropriately provide support, correction, and/or opposition to other positions on the subject). So, when I see the conclusions you share, I am provoked to thought on those issues and seek to engage in dialogue about them. I like the mental exercise of doing that.

Another reason for my attempts at dialogue is the joy of connection and understanding, which can result in amazing revelations. I am blessed, at times, to read and hear explanations of the logic, ethics, and/or morality that lead you to the position(s) you hold. Some of you have blessed me further by discussing with me the logic, ethics, and/or morality that leads me to the position(s) I hold. This helps deepen my understanding, not just of you and others, but of myself as well.

But the primary reason I engage in these discussions is my desire to live with integrity as a follower of Jesus Christ. (Yes, I said that. But I hope you read this last little part, too.)

I see in Jesus a calling to pursue fellowship. As expressed in I John 1:1-4, that fellowship centers on two relationships. First is the fellowship of a relationship with God through Christ, which is enhanced by the second fellowship in our relationships as the “one another” of “Christ’s body,” the Church. But there is a third fellowship, too. The universal claim of Jesus Christ also points Christians to a solidarity with all other human persons. This is found in His emphasis that we are all created to bear the image and likeness of one God, eternally existing in three Persons. As I explained above, that third fellowship regularly blesses me as well.

How is this a matter of integrity for me? My belief should find expression in what I say and do. Admittedly, sticking my nose into your business benefits me. It also fulfills a part of what I believe God is continuously building me to be, and part of what I believe Christ calls all His followers to do in representing Him authentically, transparently, and vulnerably. (More about that later.)

Is my integrity consistent on this point? No. Logic, ethics, and morality are often submerged under a deluge of emotion. My initial reaction to some issues (some of which you and I agree on) “hits a nerve.” I have been known to write impassioned responses for which “delete” would have been a more appropriate click than “send” or “post.” Therefore, I have some repenting to do. Especially since I’ve already kept you for 67 words more than I intended for this post. More later.

Unifying Our Fragmenting Society – “Who Cares?”

In his recent blog post, “How Do You Get the U.S. off Life-Support?” (referring to the growing incivility in public discourse that has been exacerbated by the examples set before us during this most recent election cycle), Paul Louis Metzger (disclosure: Dr. Metzger is my faculty mentor in my doctoral program) notes the position taken by Dr. Robert Potter (again, disclosure: Dr. Potter is the other academician reader of my dissertation/ministry project paper). Drawing an analogy to palliative care (seeking to alleviate a patient’s symptoms and pain, separate from addressing curative measures), Dr. Potter seeks a solution to the pressing question, “What needs to be done?” by framing the questions “What am I missing?” and “Who am I missing?” These are essential questions. In pain management and end-of-life care, the holistic approach to the mental, emotional, spiritual, and social dynamics of the patient and their family can often be even more important than the physical processes being treated.

As I have written elsewhere, addressing these multiple areas of concern is difficult, requiring in hospice care an interdisciplinary team that (by law) must at least include a physician, a medical social worker, and a pastoral counselor/chaplain in addition to the hospice manager. The intensive and extensive level of care provided through hospice during the final weeks and months of life is nearly impossible to provide elsewhere. Likewise, it often may seem as though the answers to “What am I missing?” and “Who am I missing?” are not only daunting in the depths of their complexity, they may be endless in breadth. It may seem impossible to determine, much less include all that is missing, and all who are missing from the equation. In such cases, we may be tempted to take license to disengage from the process, allowing ourselves the escape clause: “We’ve done all that we can do.”

Why would I demand of us that we try any harder than that—either in treating a dying patient or in seeking to bring unity to a fragmenting society? Because I believe that beneath the questions “What am I missing?” and “Who am I missing?” lies a motivation that is, in my experience, so often unclear in both discussions. The question “Why is this pursuit so terribly important to you?” might be boiled down cynically to “Who cares?” But whether conservative or liberal, whether focused more exclusively on any few or encompassing all the “moral intuitions” that Dr. Potter cites (care, fairness, liberty, loyalty, authority, and sanctity), the answer is simply this: “You care.” For different reasons, at different levels, and from sometimes vastly divergent perspectives, it is impossible to deny that we have clear and passionate positions on most of the issues being discussed.

If you doubt whether you have such passions, simply put yourself in the place of those who are adversely affected by any of the issues. Start by asking yourself what levels of pain relief and symptom management (think uncontrollable nausea, for example) you would be willing to forego if your hospice team needed to cut back on their agency’s overtime. Questions of healthcare rationing may bore you. But faced with a decision on whether to pursue expensive treatments that have only the most miniscule chance of curing your disease? You may find yourself paying closer attention to the discussion.

The unifying issue for many participating in hospice care, as providers as well as for patients and their families, is that we generally acknowledge the reality of mortality. We not only provide care to the dying and bereaved, we number ourselves among them. Even when we are not among the most imminently dying, we willingly bereave ourselves, intentionally forming close personal friendships with people we know are going to die soon. The unity we find in that mutual mortality and shared grief allows us to discuss matters that nearly all others in our circles of influence work hard to avoid. (Most of them wish that we would avoid those topics, too.) But in caring about the issues, despite divergent positions, relative to hospice care, we are unified by our commitment to solidarity with and around the patient and their soon-to-be-bereaved family, knowing that we eventually will be one or the other or both.

So next, in the broader conversation about our national priorities, I would ask that you think about liberties you particularly enjoy. Would you care if they were being as maligned and restricted as those of others? Try considering your economic well-being threatened by those who would re-zone their neighborhoods to eradicate “your kind.” Imagine your religious affiliation (or lack thereof) as a reason to discredit and persecute you. And visualize yourself amidst the confrontation that would occur if armed authorities denied you your right to express your position on these or any other matters. You do care…if it’s your ox that’s being gored.

We all care. We merely subvert our engagement of these issues behind a pretense of apathy. Apathy, the lack of caring, is not what I find to be the cause of inaction. Instead, we choose not to engage on the basis of what I would call the economy of futility. We do not invest in solutions because we believe the problems to be insoluble. Therefore, we fail to recognize the undeniable unity of our concerns. At their core, our conflicts are universally compelling, if only we would admit how much we care about our own positions on the issues.

Will we agree on these positions? If you demand that I agree with your position, or I demand that you agree with mine, probably not. But we must agree, if we will admit that these are issues on which we each cannot help but have positions. Then, and perhaps only then, we might be willing to listen, understand, and collaborate in ways that resolve our conflicting positions on the issues themselves. Only then can we claim that “we’ve done all that we can do.”

Must You Sin in Order to Repent? Some thoughts on taking the terrible risk of ministry innovation (i.e., anything other than “the way we’ve always done it before”)

In my earliest years of ministry, I took risks. Many risks. I still do. But there were and are risks I should have taken from which I have retreated to a safe distance. Not that I admit cowardice. If my rationalizations are to be believed, I am only being prudent. I am not procrastinating. I am calculating the anticipated benefits against the potential costs. I am considering, contemplating, and completely over-thinking matters until any opportunity for effective action will have long passed. Therefore, my regrets, such that they may be, involve only the hindsight of wondering what might have resulted, had I boldly acted in a more timely manner.

But having boldly acted in a timely manner on other occasions, my hesitation seems justified. Some risks resulted in little or no benefit. Other Christians, noticing this, have reacted to some of my plans by criticizing me for the “wasted time and resources.” If for no other reason than this, I would excuse myself for developing some hesitation, a flinch-response at even the thought of stepping into risky territory.

Sometimes, Decisive Action Cannot Be Avoided

Once upon a time, however, avoidance, and even hesitation was not an option available to me. My first two congregations were considered to be in “redevelopment” mode. That meant that they would be closed soon if the new pastor, I, did not “turn things around.” In the immediate cause-and-effect panic of trying to spark life into dying congregations, two things were true. First, the dire financial conditions meant that decisive action could not be delayed, if I intended to feed my young family after the limited denominational subsidy ran out. And yet, second, each misstep, each call for extra effort that failed to produce tangible results, and every immature impatience I allowed to show would diminish the trust that I felt others needed to have in my abilities and wisdom…at age twenty-two and twenty-four, respectively, in those first two congregations.

You would be right to assume that those abilities and wisdom were in short supply. Thus, any trust those congregations placed in me at all was an act of faith in Christ to use even me for His purposes. Still, I felt I could not afford any suggestion that He was not doing so.

The primary reason for the success of those first two efforts is that I followed the advice of the Rev. Richard C. Taylor, Sr., my first district superintendent. When I expressed the above thoughts to him, probably in the breathless blurting that comes with being entirely overwhelmed by the challenges and reactions I was facing, I recall him saying, “Love God; love your people. The rest will all work itself out.” It did.

But yesterday, I was thinking through some decisive actions looming on my current horizon. I recognized that there had been one other element that was probably just as essential to those successes as loving God and loving the congregation. That indispensable, decisive action? Repentance.

In this context, I do not mean repentance from sin, although that is even more necessary to ministry success. But there are times when those we serve need to know that we are engaging in experimentation. Especially in redevelopment ministries, but in most other congregations as well, we are trying to accomplish God’s purposes among a community that has responded as much as they are going to respond to “the way we’ve always done it before.” We are looking for the new wineskins in which the new wine of new converts and new areas of service can grow, mature, and become all that God intends. And yet, it might not work. But if it does not work, we will try something else.

Case Study: The Coffee and Cookies Experiment

Here is one example. At The Glenburn Community Church we enjoy a time of fellowship and refreshments following the worship service. It used to be held in “fellowship hall,” which was the term we used for the schoolhouse, the middle of three buildings on our campus at the junction of Glenburn and McArthur Roads in the heart of the Fall River Valley. Attempting to connect with visitors, however, used to be very difficult. They would only rarely walk past their cars in order to continue fellowship in another building, even in the best of weather. When we proposed moving coffee and cookies into the sanctuary, however, as a way of getting better acquainted with (our now-captive) visitors, a number of objections arose. The primary and temporarily successful argument was that it historically we had believed it would be inappropriate to have food in the same building where we worshiped.

But then, amidst discussions about the long history of far-more interactive fellowship in previous generations at Glenburn (we are, at 131 years, the oldest church in Shasta County), one of our longest-tenured members (granddaughter of one of the earliest pastors) mentioned with great delight the potlucks and pie socials that were once held here.

One episode in Glenburn’s history is essential to understanding how important that comment was. For several reasons, the local school district for a time needed additional space for elementary students. Unfortunately, they had neither the resources to bus them to Glenburn’s schoolhouse, nor to build their own. The simplest solution often being the best, The Glenburn Community Church “loaned” our schoolhouse to Fall River Mills Elementary School. That meant it was jacked up and transported there. This also meant that during those years, when the third structure at Glenburn, the Sunday School building, had not yet been built, and the schoolhouse was now miles away, there was only one building on the property. The sanctuary.

The occasional pie socials could have been scheduled during only those months of surer weather. But monthly potlucks could not all have been held outdoors. Once upon a time, I suspected, the congregation of The Glenburn Community Church had indeed eaten food in the sanctuary. Of course, I asked. And my friend explained, with equally great delight, how the men would turn the pews to face one another and set table tops between them, turning the worship venue into a banquet hall quite quickly.

This revelation about our own history (“the way we’d always done it before” suddenly became plural—the ways we done it) overcame the primary argument against seeking greater fellowship with coffee and cookies in the sanctuary. Still, there were many questions about how well this plan might work. So, we set a three-month deadline for the “experiment” of moving our fellowship time into the sanctuary.

Just over a month into the experiment, however, there were discussions among several key families and the most influential member of what was then called The Glenburn Church Women’s Circle informed me that the experiment was over. The benefits of providing simpler refreshments, keeping visitors captive, and having more hands available for clean-up were simply too great. We would never, she said, convince the women of the church to go back to having fellowship time in the schoolhouse.

Repenting of an Experiment

Few failed experiments can really be called mistakes. Certainly, not all mistakes are a result of sin. It is even more rare that the mistakes are sin in themselves. Much of “the way we’ve always done it before” may still work well. But new opportunities, at least, may require some experimentation in finding “the way we’ll always do it from now on.” My point here is this: if we had not been prepared to repent of that decision, sinless though it was, we would never have been able to implement the experiment.

Honoring our heritage is a noble virtue. Equally important, however, is an honest look at our history. Once upon a time, there was no pattern of ministry. There were no events or practices listed in the big book of “the way we’ve always done it before.” What made some of those ministries so memorable, and so entrenched, is how well they worked in accomplishing God’s purposes among those people at that time. And what is most fondly remembered by those who were there is not the protocols and policies. They speak with great joy about what it meant to face a challenge, and eventually find a way to address it, through a process—most often—of experimentation to see what might work “then and there,” when that was “here and now.”

So, what experimental solutions might we find today? That is an exciting question. The fearful and paralyzing answer, though, is “it might not work.” That is true. But if it does not work, we will repent of it. And we will try again until we find what does work—just as soon as we repent of not trying.

An Invitation Not to Be in Church This Sunday: Reflections on Thom Rainer’s “I Am Not in Church.”

Looking at church.

A heart-felt piece of writing on Thom Rainer’s website really struck me on this particular Monday morning, especially after a Sunday on which my focus was pulled in so many directions. (You can read his post at http://thomrainer.com/2016/05/i-am-not-in-church/.)

I know there were people "at church" yesterday who I wanted to be sure felt welcomed, valued, comforted, encouraged, etc. (By the way, that applies to everyone who was there, as well as quite a few who weren't.) But I also know that when we most need to feel welcomed, we may not be at our most welcoming. When we most need to be comforted, we may not be very comforting. When we are in need of encouragement, it's harder to find the ways to encourage others.

Going to church.

If I come seeking for what others can provide to me, and even if I come hoping to provide something to others, then I am looking for something other than church. The idea of coming "to church," being "at church," and certainly "doing church" all destine us to disappointment. Granted, there are places where people gather and engage in worship, fellowship, discipleship, and service. And I highly recommend doing so. Yet there is a purpose to doing so that is often obscured not only by the location and activity, but more so by our attitudes and expectations.

Being in church.

The idea of "being church" together means that we are not an unlimited reservoir of blessings to be tapped by one, some, or a small handful of folks who may have some need or other on any particular Sunday morning. Some come afflicted with a hunger and thirst for meaning and fulfillment, or even food and water. Others have found great meaning and fulfillment, but in ministries that routinely empty us. If each of us, at one time or another, are coming to be filled, then who can we consistently depend upon? Who will always be available to pour themselves out into us?

Getting behind the church.

We need to remember that the unlimited reservoir that we seek to tap into together can only be Christ Himself. And in doing so, perhaps we might join together in setting an example for others, too, who imagine that the church is something you can somehow be "in" instead of being "of."

So, if you're waiting for an invitation? I hope Christians invite you. We're supposed to. It's part of the mandate Jesus gave us--reach out, love, invite, congregate. But if we invite you "to" church, then it's not church that you're likely to find. If we invite you to sit "in" church with us, then it's not church that you'll probably be attending. If you're invited, you should accept only if you recognize that we are desperate sinners whose hearts, however redeemed and sanctified they may be, are still prone to selfish idolatries. You should accept the invitation from those who come together to console one another at least as much as to celebrate and commend Christ with one another. You should not be misled into thinking that Christianity can be a spectator sport, a self-help seminar, or even a source of sustenance to our souls. If Christ alone is the way, the truth, and the life we offer, then all the invitation we can extend to you is this: come to Him, and be church with us.

E.M. Bounds’ Seven Elements of Preaching from a Place of ‘True Praying’

There are a handful of moments over the past three decades of ministry when I remember being nearly paralyzed by the immense responsibility that accompanies the divine calling to preach the word of God. It is rarely simple, never easy, though occasionally exciting…like a train-wreck. Those overwhelming times sometimes result from the challenging subject matter of the passage at hand. Sometimes, I have felt myself engulfed by emotion because of the circumstances into which God’s word must be spoken. And more frequently I am amazed in contemplating the great privilege granted me by a congregation committed to enabling sufficient study, composition, and polishing for the messages they gather to hear.

I hope that one element is conspicuous by its absence. Study, composition, and polishing come easily to those blessed with a great deal of education, bountiful budgets of both time and money to constantly consume book after book, and the additional benefit of being engaged in dialogue with a diverse breadth of individuals of great spiritual depth. With all that, however, comes also the temptation to believe that I have something to say. I do, of course. But not in preaching. In preaching, my responsibility is to overcome the temptation to say any something, except to deliver that which is God’s message, in that holy moment He has appointed, for the edification of those He has gathered, that they may be the agency of His will on earth, just as it is in heaven. As important as preaching is, and important as careful study, composition, and polishing may be, there is one essential that should inform, influence, and inspire every word of every sermon. But because, as E.M. Bounds writes, “Preachers are human folks, and are exposed to and often caught by the strong driftings of human currents,” I find that I need a constant reminder of the necessity of the fullest possible approach to preaching through prayer.

Toward reminding myself of the richness of prayer that provides the foundation and fulfillment of preaching’s promise, I find Bounds’ seven elements of “true praying” to be a worthy contemplation.

1.       Vital Oneness with Christ – As communicators of the gospel, we are not merely commentators on the events and content of Jesus’ life from twenty centuries ago. If we are not continuously participating by allowing His ministry to take place in and through our lives, then we are preaching across a divide of insurmountable distance to those who have little or no hope of emulating what we present as an intellectual exercise instead of a living, breathing, active and living (thus Bounds’ use of the term “vital”) life of faith.

2.       Fullness of the Holy Ghost – Jesus told us that out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. If we are merely to speak about God, then we may do so out of the abundance of our minds, the volumes of our libraries, or the class notes from our Bible college or seminary. If, however, we intend to speak God, to speak the way, the truth, and the life, to give voice to the living presence of the Almighty Creator of all that ever will have existed, then we must be filled to overflowing with God Himself in the person of the Holy Spirit.

3.       Deep, Overflowing Fountains of Tender Compassion – In the next point, Bounds addresses our focus on eternal life for those we serve. But here, lest we overlook the circumstances of their lives, becoming “so heavenly minded that we’re no earthly good,” it is essential that we not only know how others are living, but that we materially live as they do. The ivory pedestals of our isolated studies may be momentarily necessary to the study, composition, and polishing of our messages, but the lives into which we speak are “out there” where the dialogue is occurring for many more hours than we will ever preach. The phrase that has helped me most in making the time available for actively engaging in the daily lives of our community comes from Andrew Blackwood’s Pastoral Leadership (Abingdon-Cokesbury, 1949). I remember it as, “Pastoral visitation is sermon preparation.”

4.       Deathless Solicitude for Man’s Eternal Good – No matter how gratifying it is to see God’s resources brought to bear through our lives into the needs of those we are called to serve, the message we deliver is not merely incomplete but entirely heretical if it does not emphasize God’s eternal love, Christ’s eternal purpose, and the Holy Spirit’s eternal efforts to bring new, abundant, and eternal life into its fullest possible expression in every life He allows us to touch.

5.       Consuming Zeal for the Glory of God – Even in the previous two categories, it is possible to diminish God to being the cache of resources, or even the means to salvation. That Jesus is Lord and Master, and Sovereign King does not negate His character as the Friend of sinners, the Intercessor affirming the effectiveness of His blood in reconciling us to God, or any other aspect we may occasionally neglect in favor of others. The richness of both the breadth and depth of God’s attributes, character, will, and action deserve careful review to ensure that our preaching does not drift onto a few favorite perspectives at the expense of presenting the wholeness of His holiness.

6.       A Thorough Conviction of the Preacher’s Difficult and Delicate Work – I have discussed this above, but here I would add the confession that I have, too frequently, looked upon a sermon text as offering me an “easier” preparation due to my familiarity with the particular passage. I have learned, however, to reject this seductive enticement to my laziness. In truth, the more familiar a passage is, the more difficult it usually proves to think through how it applies to the congregation who will gather to hear it. Worse, far greater effort is actually required. It can be a struggle to determine what the passage does say, when I am already certain that I know what it has said to me previously. And then, the cold, hard light of truth, once seen, needs to be focused and filtered into fractional portions, set in an accessible order, so that the truth that so resonates in my heart will do the same for others on Sunday morning.

7.       The Imperative Need of God’s Mightiest Help – All of the above matters combine to motivate an inevitable decision. There are more than two options, but many preachers find themselves at some point in their ministry with the strong sense of being caught between only the Rock and the hard place. The hard place may be the personalities and preferences of a particular parish. Some may face a crisis of personal health, relationships, or finances. But often the hard place is deep within the preacher who faces the growing perception that an ever-closer relationship with the Rock reveals the terrible distance between what the preacher is and does, and what any disciple of Jesus Christ comes to realize: there is so much we can never be, so much we can never do. The weight of that realization can threaten to crush us. The attractive alternative to that brokenness is to walk away from the role and its responsibilities. But there is a third option. I happen to believe it cannot be accessed without the brokenness. Some would disagree, and perhaps they have found some other means to the same end. But the strength to hold up under the pressures of preaching is to accept what Bounds calls “the imperative need of God’s mightiest help” that is available only when, I believe, our strength has crumbled to dust and been swept out of the way.

Of course, this seventh element brings us full circle in Bounds’ list. God’s mightiest help is only available when we have nothing else to bring to the task at hand than our vital oneness with Christ. Are there still simpler, easier, more exciting options available to today’s preachers? Yes. And it would appear that simpler, easier, and more exciting preaching is more attractive to greater numbers. So, why pursue this prayer-drenched preaching that Bounds describes as being “a conspicuous and an all-impregnating force?” There is no reason at all, unless we choose to believe as Bounds does: “To (those) who think think praying their main business and devote time to it according to this high estimate of its importance does God commit the keys of his kingdom, and by them does he work his spiritual wonders in this world.”

When I look at the crowds that are being drawn, and especially when I hear the criticisms from among the simpler, easier, and more exciting options, so far, I do still hear the words of Jesus: “What about you? Do you want to go there, too?” It is only by committing to consistently “conspicuous” prayer that my answer remains, “Where else am I supposed to go? Only You have the words of eternal life.” (John 6:66-71) And as their preacher, I refuse to believe that those to whom I am called to serve on Christ’s behalf should deserve anything else, which would make the message something less than the whole counsel of God’s word.

“You Can’t Always Get What You Want, but If You Try Sometimes…” – Part Two: Some Thoughts on the Assets and Liabilities of Small-Church Spirituality (Part One Examined the Parallel Issues in Small-Town Medicine)

In part one, we explored some of the issues affecting the quality and availability of healthcare in low density population areas like the Intermountain Area of northern California. These include the following: (1) An inattention to detail that can result in patients receiving less than, other than, or simply none of the care they require to be restored to physical health. (2) The attraction of lower-priced alternatives to shopping locally for pharmacy services, leaving communities without the availability of occasionally necessary medications like antibiotics and other temporary symptom-relief measures. (3) The tendency of healthcare staff members to see patients more as a commodity that provides employees with job security, rather than being at least paying customers with distinct needs for quality service. (4) An amazing dedication displayed by individuals within the system whose thoughtfulness, creativity, persistence, and awareness of the human personhood of their patients manages to bring about the right results in the midst of an untrustworthy, and sometimes dangerously dysfunctional system.

As I suggested earlier, each of these traits finds a parallel in small-church spirituality, and I find a strong correlation to both the assets and liabilities they represent. Here are some thoughts about that.

The Lone-Ranger’s Ministry: Small-Church Spirituality and an Insufficient Focus

I am not the only solo pastor who sees the irony in being asked to devote twenty percent of our time to each of the six to ten elements of our position descriptions. Neither am I alone in feeling very alone when just one or two of the elements require our attention for a majority of the 168 hours we are allotted in a given week. The frequent result that costs us what little of that schedule would otherwise allow restful sleep is this: in our best-managed weeks, there are far many more details in need of attention than there is attention available to devote to them. Unless, of course, some of those essential details are effectively delegated. Ironically, it is by allowing others to participate in ministry responsibilities that provides greater growth and health in the body of Christ. (Ephesians 4:11-16) But just as misfiled medical records can be deadly, local congregations, extended families, and individual human persons find their spiritual health declining for no other reason than they are missing certain basic elements necessary to barely sustaining, much less strengthening them.

One-Stop Shopping: Small-Church Spirituality and Mesmerizing Mega-Churches

For some, it is the occasional trek to a larger community and the larger churches to be found there. I cannot deny that there are several worship bands that perform far more professionally than any available in our remote rural area. The focus of a multi-staff church’s “teaching pastor” whose primary job description is to prepare and present sermons will almost always provide more polished preaching than the jack-of-all-trades general practitioner filling all pastoral roles in a small rural congregation. The economy of scale in larger religious organizations means that there are enough potential attendees to justify narrow, niche-marketed ministries to those with characteristics or affinities that guarantee that everyone else in their gatherings will be very much like them (and thus very likely to like them). But just as shopping elsewhere for routine medical services threatens to leave patients without the immediate and personalized care they will almost certainly require, a similar pattern befalls those in smaller churches and communities who find themselves in sudden need. Mega-Church pastors seldom make housecalls and hospital visits, even within the immediate neighborhood of their church’s location. Ministry to the bereaved, the substance-abuser, the traumatized, or even the recently engaged is most often requested of the pastors serving churches that are closest geographically, but who are not at all close relationally to those they have never seen in a Sunday morning pew. (And this viewpoint ignores entirely the impossibility of one-on-one ministry with pastors known only through their broadcast personality.)

Budding Beginners and Experienced Elders: Small-Church Spirituality and the Horrors of Hirelings

It is not, of course, only those in the pews (or not) whose habits are devastating to small churches. Those called to pastor in rural parishes, especially, tend to fall into two categories. First, chronologically speaking, are those with wet ink on their diplomas, degrees, licenses, or ordination papers. Denominations with insufficient multi-staff church positions for the newest, freshest, most inexperienced ministers use a variety of disparaging terms for both these pastors and the congregations they serve. Likewise, most of those younger pastors have heard not only the disparaging terms, but the pattern expected of them, if they are to survive long in the ranks of professional career pastors. But at the other end of the longevity spectrum, there are many pastors who have served for decades without retirement plans, sufficient wages to build-up savings accounts, or even the equity of home ownership as they have moved from parsonage to parsonage, or been consigned to a rotations of rentals by their lack of employment stability. Those well beyond retirement age can sometimes rely on their wisdom and experience to make up for a lack of energy, or a perceived lack of relevance to “today’s young families.” But both the “whippersnappers and fogeys” who fill many rural pulpits share one critical characteristic that dooms their congregations to constant recycling through the pastoral-search process. The shared trait is this: they will be moving on soon. Those in their first pastorate will soon be lured away to the next rung on the corporate career ladder. Those with decades of experience will soon be called home to Jesus, or at least away from effective ministry by some combination of infirmity, illness, or injury. In either case, and too many others in between, the focus is not on serving the congregation and community, but on the ongoing development of the minister, the growing needs of their family, the enticements of the next available opportunities, or their desire to comfortably finish their final chapter.

Exceptions to the Rule: Small-Church Spirituality and the Idealism of Interconnected Individuals

In part one, we celebrated individuals within the healthcare system who looked beyond their official job descriptions, their personal inconvenience, and “reasonably competent service” in order to focus on the needs of patients. Here, I want to acknowledge that my preference for small-church spirituality is based on similar observations. Where there are not seminary-trained specialists in narrow fields of ministry to specifically-segregated groups of consumers, there is a greater reliance on other resources. Among these, the Holy Spirit is most trustworthy. But a broader scripture knowledge is also in evidence, and quite helpful among those seeking what Jesus would have them to do…when there is not a staff member already assigned to the responsibilities in that area. Third, beyond the work of the Holy Spirit and the trustworthiness of scripture, there is the interrelated workings of members within the body of Christ that is necessitated by the utter lack of paid professionals on-scene in most circumstances. Last in this list, for several reasons, but still of great importance to the health and strength of small churches, especially in remote, rural, low density population areas, is the willingness of committed shepherds to stand firm and stay put, doing whatever is necessary to overcome the dangers and damage that accrues from the horrible rotation of hirelings that has destroyed not only individual congregations (the list of extinct churches in our area continues to grow) but devastated the testimony of the gospel.

So, to those members of the body of Christ who choose to attend, participate, and serve in the local communities to which God has called them, and to those pastors who resist the temptations to build careers rather than congregations: May God bless you by allowing you to see an effective fellowship in which every good thing in each of us is shared fully with all of us. (Philemon 6)

Prayer – A Remedy to My Perceptions of (and Frustrations over) Futility

In the series of four posts that follow this one, I explore three stages of ministry development that I have seen. Affecting both new pastors in an established congregation, and newly-planted congregations within a community, these stages are first “Putting Out Fires,” then “Spinning the Plates,” and finally “Finding Your Traction.” There may be stages beyond these, but having served over three decades in ministry, with my longest tenure being my current position at The Glenburn Community Church, I have still engaged in finding my traction.

There is always the option of
choosing not to play the game.

But each of these three stages carries particular threats to ministry’s longevity—again, whether the ministry of a particular pastor, or the ministry of a recently-planted congregation. In this post, I want to examine how the potential for being consumed by the fires one would put out, or how allowing the spinning plates to wobble and fall could result in being dismissed, or how a failure to find your traction would result in perceiving only the futility of the alternative: spinning your wheels.

I would note that a perception of futility, and the frustrations that follow, is more often only a perception. At the risk of excessively repeating myself, it is essential to remember that in our service to Christ and others, we are responsible only for obedience in answer to “What would Jesus have me do?” God is the One who is on the hook for the results and consequences. Therefore, whether we recognize what results from our faithful service should be irrelevant.

Perception is reality? Not often.

But it is also possible to assume that we are being faithful, to ignore the evident lack of results to our ministry, and to presume that God is using the resources of faithfulness that we, in fact, are failing to supply. How can that be? E.M. Bounds would answer that such is the case when we gravitate toward either of “two extreme tendencies in the ministry.” (“Tendencies to Be Avoided,” The Complete Works of E.M. Bounds, 14) Some would shut themselves away from humanity in order to focus on becoming closer to God. Others, in their focus on becoming closer to humanity, popularizing their ministry, drift far from their devotions to God.

Whether in examining the personal ministry in which any of engages as individuals, or in considering the newly-planted congregations where some of us have served, our evaluation can never be reliable, or even stable, if based on our perception of whether this or that activity brought about its intended result. Instead, Bounds would recommend, our evaluation must be grounded in the simple (though not terribly easy) question of whether our words and deeds answer the question, “What would Jesus have me do?”

There's always a bright side on which to look!

How do we find the answer to that question? Only through prayer. How do we find the time and energy for praying through at such a level? Again, here is bounds on our motivation: “Talking to men for God is a great thing, but talking to God for men is greater still.” There is a lot I could say about Bounds’ warnings to those of us whose education, intellect, talents, and other “ministry skills” allow us to celebrate our own efforts and their results.

Which is the point of living by faith, right?

Suffice to say, I recognize that my abilities more often accomplish two detrimental effects in the body of Christ. First, the perception that others in a congregation do not “measure up” in musical talents, public speaking eloquence, or any other standard causes many to withhold their own gifts and abilities from serving Christ and others. Second, and more egregious, I confidently rely on my ability to express myself eloquently (sometimes musically, but more often in the spoken word, especially in perceptions of my professional praying) to compensate for my tendency to spend far more time in preparing my words than in praying to receive God’s words through God’s Word.

So, the alternative question I am contemplating today is this: “What if the only thing that resulted from my life and ministry was that which God accomplished in answer to my praying?” I don’t dare hazard an answer without implementing its implications.

A Theory of Relativity: Why it’s not good enough to be a better Christian

There is a certain weight to winning.

Chances are, if you are reading this from within the United States of America, you claim to be a Christian.[1] In fact, the estimates of the Christian population in North America are so absurdly high that I can make my claim with great confidence about even those of you who rise well above the averages: I am a better Christian than you are.

Choose whatever metric you want to compare. By just about all the standards that matter, I rank in the upper-most percentiles. True, my spiritual SAT score may not be 1600 (or whatever it is these days that gets you into Stanford). But face it: the average American Christian aspires to be the religious equivalent of a State-school dropout who finishes an Associate’s in Art Appreciation by the time he’s forty years old.

Granted, this is less likely to apply if you are among the twenty-five to thirty-five percent that would call yourselves Evangelicals. This is especially true if you identify as a Born-Again, Spirit-Filled, fully-participating member of the body of Jesus Christ who serves faithfully and prayerfully in your local congregation of theologically-conservative, politically-active and missions-supporting nuclear families. Odds are, though…

First in Class doesn't always mean First in Line.

Let me be more direct. From any perspective I would value, you are not as good a Christian as I am.

Unless, that is, you evaluate me by the one metric under which I fail every test, barely scrawl my name on the most basic assignment, and attend even my class’s kindergarten graduation as a mere spectator from the folding chairs in the back of the cafeteria. There is one standard by which the most meager Christian resume sets you head-and-shoulders above the muck and mire into which I quickly sink when compared with your own lofty status. What is this qualification under which my best efforts are ultimately futile? How do I know that there is no hope that I could ever measure up to your vaunted position of honor and holiness? The reason is simple. There is very little chance that you, dear reader, are a paid professional pastor.

For any and all stature I may attain in the minds of some (myself, primarily), my relatively stratospheric pedestal of perfection crumbles under the weight of being a vocational vicar. Yes, anything you do “for free” far outstrips any accolades I might earn, since I also earn my living by means of being a servant to Christ and others. (Of course, the concept of “earning a living” for a Christian is theologically incorrect, but we’ll leave a discussion of Philippians 4:19 for another day.)

At least in yacht racing, the view from behind
the lead dog is still beautiful.

“But isn’t the ground level at the foot of the cross?” you may ask. And it is. Jesus loves each of us equally. How we respond to that love, however, is where the variables occur, and where we often excuse ourselves to competitive comparisons with one another. But what if we were to choose a different point of comparison?

That’s what E.M. Bounds does at the opening of “The Letter Killeth,” chapter three in his book Power through Prayer, which you can find (as my daughter and I have chosen to) in The Complete Works of E.M. Bounds. He quotes “Bishop McKendree” who, in part, writes, “The coldness of my love to Him who first loved me and has done so much for me overwhelmed and confused me.” He adds just one sentence later that he determined again “to strive and devote myself unreservedly to the Lord.” Not because he felt that he did or did not measure up to the “one anothers” in his sphere of Christian relationships. But because he recognized the disparity that exists between Christ’s love for us and the love we profess to have for Him.

Again, though, there is still that hazard peculiar to my own role in Christ’s body. Bounds writes, “Much of the lax devotion and lazy, irreverent attitudes in congregational praying are attributable to professional praying in the pulpit.” Perhaps it is Bounds that I am remembering, or some other Christian writer from decades ago (probably Leonard Ravenhill, I imagine) who similarly offered that only long seasons of personal, private praying allow for brief and effective public praying. In this chapter, though, Bounds does extend “A plea for short praying, live praying, real heart praying, praying by the Holy Spirit—direct, specific, ardent, simply, unctuous in the pulpit.”

And more so than you, just so you know.

I cannot help but be “the professional” pastor, prayer, and pulpiteer. But perhaps I can help others pray more authentically as I do so. It will still pale in comparison to Jesus’ praying. And my praying and preaching may be compared favorably or unfavorably to others you would hear. But rather than measuring ourselves by ourselves and comparing ourselves with ourselves (see the II Corinthians quote below), I am seeking to more authentically respond to the immeasurably higher love and devotion that Jesus has shown, not only as an example for expressing my love and devotion should be toward the Father, but as an simpler exhibition of Christ’s own love toward me.

The Apostle Paul writes in II Corinthians 10:12, “For we are not bold to class or compare ourselves with some of those who commend themselves;” (whether to Gallup, Barna, Pew, or any other poll-takers), “but when they measure themselves by themselves and compare themselves with themselves, they are without understanding.” Far more important than whether you or I were graded to be the better Christian, may we seek, “unreservedly,” a devotion that emulates that of Jesus Christ toward the Father, and toward us.

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[1] According to ABC News, 83% of U.S. adults are Christians. (July 18, 2015 – “Poll: Most Americans Say They're Christian” - http://abcnews.go.com/US/story?id=90356&page=1) The Pew Research Center puts the figure at 70.6%. (“About the 2014 U.S. Religious Landscape Study” - http://www.pewforum.org/about-the-religious-landscape-study/) 

Attention Preacher – Are You Standing between God and His People? Step Aside.

Several years ago, a speaker at Simpson University (one of the three authors of The Psychology of Religious Fundamentalism, but I don’t remember which it was and the tired end of a long day) was asked following his presentation what he defined as religious fundamentalism. I recall recoiling at his definition which, in essence, was that fundamentalism comprised those who held to a literal interpretation of the text they view as holy. I recoiled for two reasons. First, that while I am a Biblical inerranticist, and as such I do hold to a literal interpretation of the text, I cannot consider myself a Christian Fundamentalist as defined in the series of publications from the early-20^th Century that were called and collated together as The Fundamentals. Second, that in accepting those Fundamentals, their adherents are not, in fact, holding to a literal interpretation of the text they (and I) consider to be holy. Specifically, they hold to The Fundamentals, which are a compilation of what other people have said is a literal interpretation of the text…and that interpretation is not literal, nor even faithful to the text in question. This pattern of believing what someone else has said they do (and you should) believe continues well beyond Fundamentalism, even today.

This all came to mind as I read E.M. Bounds’ second chapter in Power through Prayer, “Our Sufficiency Is of God.” He writes (in the masculine-intensive grammar of 1913), “The life-giving preacher is a man of God, whose heart is ever athirst for God, whose soul is ever following hard after God, whose eye is single to God, and in whom by the power of God’s Spirit the flesh and the world have been crucified and his ministry is like the generous flood of a life-giving river.” (Bounds, The Complete Works of E.M. Bounds, 10) What does such a servant of Christ and others offer to those seeking God? Bounds urges us beyond mere exegesis, creativity, and the application of our own intellect, however necessary these may be. In fact, even where these are in evidence, he warns of “the death-dealing element (that) lies back of the words, back of the sermon, back of the occasion, back of the manner, back of the action. The great hindrance is in the preacher himself.”

This one I would recommend.

If God has no grandchildren (i.e., each of us must be rightly related to God through Christ), then it is also true that God has no interpreters (except Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, both of whom I hold to be God). The work of God’s servant is to stimulate others to enter into and deepen their direct conversation with God Himself. The calling is not to gather crowds to hear what that servant filters onto the hearers second-hand. Shockingly, many seem to forget that where there is no direct conversation with God, there can be no claim to an actual relationship. Those who stand between God and His congregation, whether in the confessional that so many Protestants reject, or from the pulpits, lecterns, and Christian Education curricula that historically span the hundreds of division among Christendom, cannot save those who rely upon such servants as their mediators.

Bounds notes especially the self-esteem and self-ability that often elevate professional servants of God beyond the common experience of Christians. If what we offer is a second-hand, buffered relationship with God, whether we are making the gospel simpler, easier, more exciting, less demanding, or in any other way more palatable and/or less challenging (however popular their messages and well-populated their religious organizations), then what we are preaching is not fundamental to the faith, and only arguably might be considered the gospel at all.

Yes, we proclaim the word through preaching and practice. But we only do so authentically to the extent that we bring others into their own direct contact and conversation with God. Doing otherwise robs them of that relationship we pretend to offer, and strongly suggests that we ourselves have no concept whatsoever of entering into that conversation ourselves, especially if we are relying on others who have previously simplified, de-thorned, softened, or otherwise adulterated the teachings of that text we claim to hold holy.

To close with Bounds (again apologizing as I must for the cultural context of just over a century ago), “Crucified preaching only can give life. Crucified preaching can come only from a crucified man.”