Leadership Journal

We had just commissioned 83 new members. It was a proud moment. The newly initiated throng made their way off the platform, while I moved closer to the congregation to begin my sermon.

"This is great, isn't it?" I began. "But before we get too giddy about new members, let me ask you a question. Why should we bring 83 new people into something that isn't working?"

It was the first time in thirty years of ministry I had admitted something I was leading wasn't working. It appeared to be working, but it just wasn't.

"Something is wrong," I said. "It has been tormenting me for several years. All the formulas, strategic planning, mission statements and visionary sermons are not making disciples." Indeed, I was haunted by it. Where was the personal transformation after all the effort we put into weekend services, Bible studies, small groups, and outreach events?

We were stuck in the same rut that so many churches find themselves in—religious activity without real transformation.

You may say, "I've read Bill Hull's stuff, I know what he has to say about discipleship." But could it be that like me, you're tired of discipleship because you don't see it working? Could it be that like me you left something important out? Like me, could it be that you have been seduced by a false vision of leadership?

Although I preached and wrote about discipleship, I felt like an ice skater gliding over the ice. Beneath the surface I could glimpse transformation, I just couldn't get at it. The icy barrier was church infrastructure, traditions, and the institutional community. But it was also a leadership model that insists pastors be managers of church growth rather than shepherds helping people go deeper into the life Christ has for us. Yes, too often these models are mutually exclusive!

At age 50 I found myself successful but unsatisfied. I was hooked on results, addicted to recognition, and a product of my times. I was a get-it-done leader who was ready to lead people into the rarified air of religious competition. Like so many pastors, I was addicted to what others thought of me.

One morning over coffee and Frosted Flakes, I was reading about the success of one of my favorite people, Rick Warren. I read that he was selling more books than I had brain cells. The more I read about his impact, the less significant I felt. I was like the inflatable man who had been blown up by the previous day's recognition, but reading the article pulled the plug and the air slowly went out of me until I disappeared behind the paper.

I was disgusted by what I felt. I knew my attitude wasn't right. Like Jonah I knew I was on the wrong ship, heading in the wrong direction, for the wrong reason. I knew that I needed to jump. And jump I did.

As I stood before the people that morning, I was prepared to pour out my soul, even my desperation. I was nearing the end of a three-year reshaping of my person, and I had morphed in such a way that I could never go ...