Let me confess in the very beginning, I think I’ve had it. I’m finished, through, done in. Let men of stronger faith and greater courage right the world’s wrongs; I must be content to sit in the house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.
I have served on boards and committees until they are running out of my ears. I have given speeches to PTAs and service clubs until my name (within a limited area) is a household word. I have opened every kind of meeting and contest extending from the Association of Commerce and Industry to the grade school swimming meet. I have prayed for baseball, football, wrestling, and junior high proms. But the Lord seems strangely distant to me right now. My nerves are jittery, butterflies are continuously in my stomach. And my church members, who used to love me dearly, now wonder what I do with all my time. They seldom see me in their homes, and of course I’m never at the church when they call.
Two weeks ago I preached a sermon, using as a text that glorious passage from Isaiah 61:
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn …
As I worked on the sermon, I hearkened back to my ordination vows. I remembered the charge to the minister as well as to the congregation, and the moisture in my eyes when the hands were laid upon me.
And as I read and re-read Isaiah, and recalled that Jesus quoted the very same words, it dawned upon me again: this is the true job of the minister. There are about twelve hundred members in my church. They have their joys and sorrows the same as people everywhere. Only so many times, instead of being with them in their hour of joy or sorrow, I am attending a committee meeting. Maybe I’ll get to them later in the week, but by then it is too late. To be sure, they can hear me on Sunday and gain a certain vicarious help, but it is nothing like having the minister in your front room when you want or need him.
I know what my job is. It is (1) to preach good tidings to the meek, (2) to bind up the broken-hearted, (3) to proclaim liberty to the captives, (4) to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, (5) the day of vengeance of our God, (6) to comfort all that mourn. And if that is not a full-time job, then someone does not know what his job is. These biblical goals represent a divine commission no minister can escape. Either he acknowledges Jesus Christ as Son of God, and lives and dies in accordance with these goals, or he is in the wrong profession and has not even the right to call himself Christian.
Such is my job and it is every minister’s job. We all are so busy attending meetings on how we can better do our job, however, we never get the job done. I think the original organization man was a minister with a heart of gold but who forgot somewhere along the line just what his job was.
Now there are certain advantages to being an organization man. You get your picture in the paper quite often, and are interviewed by the public press. People of other denominations know you; you are gazed upon with a certain admiration as you walk along the street. The denominational boards know you because you religiously attend all meetings. You are much more apt to be recommended to a larger church if you attend your denominational committee meetings regularly, than if you serve your church members faithfully. Some will emphatically deny this, but I have seen it happen too often.
So the organization man becomes a VIP. He is respected by the denomination, loved by the community. He is Known, and many people think that is quite important.
But what about the 1200 people who pay his salary, who look to him for spiritual guidance, or comfort in time of sorrow, guidance in time of confusion, solace in time of bereavement, or help in time of illness?
Here is a dear lady, 88 years old, who has brought a whole batch of children into the world, and now has a raft of grandchildren and great grandchildren. She is confined to her bed, and life is slipping away. Perhaps six more months, and she will be laid to rest.
All she has is her memories … many of them related to the church she loved and served for 60 years. Now she would like for her minister to see her, at least once a week and preferably more often. Admittedly she has become somewhat petulant. She scolds me when I am a day or even an hour late. And 60 minutes is all too short. She would like for me to spend the afternoon with her … reading the Bible, praying, and talking of the affairs of the church. But I have more than a hundred people in my church past 65 years of age. They have their rights also.
The thought comes to my mind as I pull away from the curb: Why should I waste my time on this old lady? She has lived her life and it will soon be over. Will either of my denominational boards praise me if I see her once a week, or scold me if I never see her? Will they ever notice—or care? Will they recommend me to a larger church simply because I am willing to spend an extra minute comforting the aged and dying? Or will they remember the last committee meeting I skipped, the board meeting at which I was supposed to bring a report?
Then one night, the old lady died. When the family tried to get in touch with me, I was in Park Forest delivering a talk on “Our Quest for Religious Certainty.” To be sure, I conducted a very lovely funeral for her a couple of days later, but my conscience hurt. I’m sure she would have liked for me to be by her bedside when she departed from this life.
So—after much soul searching, I have decided to cast my lot with that splendid group of people, unknown throughout the ages, unknown in the world today, whom I call Ministers Anonymous. They are mostly ministers of small churches, under-paid, overworked, and ofttimes not appreciated.
Ministers Anonymous take seriously the words of Isaiah that their sole job is to preach good tidings to the meek, bind up the broken-hearted, proclaim liberty to the captives, and comfort all that mourn. What was good enough for Jesus (Luke 4:18) is good enough for them. To them has been given a group of people to love and to cherish. They are the shepherds of the flock. The congregation may number a hundred; or a thousand … the job is the same.
Ministers Anonymous awaken in the morning with the thought: Who needs me most today? One who is ill … in sorrow … broken by failure? The confused, the distraught, the frustrated? The young, the old? Christianity has an answer to all problems. We go further and insist: Christianity has the answer to all problems. If the minister does not bring the solution, there will be no solution. To be sure, he needs help. He may call in a doctor, a lawyer, or a teacher. But the minister deals with the total personality, which is the area wherein the problem must be solved.
Ministers Anonymous are interested in civic affairs, but they never let this interest swerve them from their appointed rounds. If they have to choose between the United Fund and a Sunday School class, they will take the Sunday School class every time. They may not get their picture in the paper, but they are doing their job. Leading one small child along the straight and narrow way can in the long run be more important than raising a million dollar budget.
Ministers Anonymous try to meet their denominational obligations, which is an important phase of their work. But denominational leaders sometimes forget the purpose of a church. They get interested in raising budgets, increasing membership, and making a fine showing. Their only recourse is the local church, and their prime source of help is the local preacher. So of course they crack the whip over both preacher and church. “You must attend meetings,” they say, “serve on committees, help conduct surveys, give speeches where they are needed, ring bells, and make telephone calls. The Methodists are getting ahead of us, and we’ve got to make a better showing in 1960.”
Leaders may go even further, though unconsciously perhaps. “Do you want to get ahead in your profession? A bigger church, more salary, greater influence? Then raise more money for us; we need it, the denomination needs it.”
It is tragically true that a minister’s success is judged not by his ability to serve the sick and the dying but by his ability to increase his benevolence budget. For this is the money that flows into denominational tills and makes possible increased activity on a national level. He may be a veritable St. Francis of Assisi, loved by his people, faithful unto death; but if his people happen to be poor and unable to give huge sums to the higher boards, he will never be recognized beyond his parish. He may preach beautiful sermons, spend endless hours in effective counseling; yet, if his benevolence budget remains constant, he is a nobody.
Do you want to get ahead in your profession? Then serve on denominational committees, raise money, make speeches, ring doorbells, make telephone calls. Your sheep may not see you except for a few minutes on Sunday morning, but you are well on your way to success. That big church in the city will soon be yours because you know how to raise money and sound the tinkling cymbal.
Ministers Anonymous balk at the demands which are made upon them by outside interests; that is why they are anonymous. They seek only to serve their people; that is why they are anonymous. They continue to serve small churches, receive small salaries, and eventually die a pauper’s death. But their consciences are clear, and that is all that matters. I am throwing in my lot with Ministers Anonymous. I want to come to the end of the road with a clear conscience. I don’t want memories of dying ladies, untended by their minister, to haunt me.
No church should have over 500 members. Three hundred would be even better. It is simply impossible for one minister to serve adequately more than 300 to 500 members. He cannot know more than this number, their problems, ambitions, dreams, and fears. He may call in another minister to help him, but when people are in trouble they want their minister, the one who preaches to them on Sunday mornings and teaches a Sunday School class.
When a church gets over 500 members, then I believe members should make plans to start a new church further out. Denominational leaders can buy the land, hire a minister, and start the fledglings on their way to maturity. They can guide them through the trying days and be present on their day of graduation when eventually they are free and able to take care of themselves.
Such action would relieve the denominations of their constant need for more funds. One reason why more money is always needed is that more churches are always needed. Denominational leaders can and do go out and start new churches. However, I do not think that is their job, because it is an impersonal thing with them. They cannot possibly know the local situation, the problems or the needs, as well as a group next door. As parents give birth to children, local churches should give birth to little churches. Little churches grow into large churches, and in turn beget more churches. Each church will have a minister who has only one job to do: preach the gospel to the poor, heal the broken-hearted, preach deliverance to the captives, and comfort all who mourn.
There are a dozen books I would like to write, books which might bring me fame and fortune. Some ministers write books; some serve their people. You cannot do both.
I would like to make twice the money I am now receiving. I am sure I could do it if I played all the angles. Some ministers make lots of money; some serve their people. You cannot do both.
So I am a charter member of that group known to all as “the least and the lost.” I call them Ministers Anonymous. To me, it is a badge of honor. Some day I will meet my Master. I hope that when I do, I shall have a cup of cold water in my hand, ready to offer it to the thirsty. I am sure this will bring a smile of gladness upon his face.
Jacob J. Vellenga served on the National Board of Administration of the United Presbyterian Church from 1948–54. Since 1958 he has served the United Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. as Associate Executive. He holds the A.B. degree from Monmouth College, the B.D. from Pittsburgh-Xenia Seminary, Th.D. from Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, and D.D. from Monmouth College, Illinois.
