Koinonia, like so many other Greek words, has become a part of the Christian vocabulary. Almost eueryone has heard of it, a few can define it, but many, perhaps most, would admit to some doubt about ever experiencing it. Building People (Tyndale, 1978) is koinonia come to life. It’s flesh-and-blood prose about the trial-and-error, success-and-set-back experiences one pastor faced in establishing a koinonia fellowship.
Donald L. Bubna is the veteran copastor of the Salem Alliance Church in Salem, Oregon, a congregation of 700 families. Whether he is describing a close associate or an occasional Sunday attender, he examines the common and uncommon ground a pastor must walk to create relationships that minister mutually.
We have excerpted three of the twelve chapters. All of them are worth reading, for seldom does the reader get the opportunity to peel back the skin and look at the inner workings of a fellowship under construction.
I don’t think this church needs two Don Budnas!” My associate pastor’s usually mild voice had a sharp edge.
“Why do you say that, Ted?”
“I get the feeling you are trying to make me into another you, and it just won’t work.”
The strained look on Ted Zabel’s open, youthful face told me he was serious, but his words had taken me by surprise. We had been coworkers for a year in the-Pacific Beach, California, church. Ted had come to us directly from Bible college, along with his bride. Edna was a talented musician, and Ted was especially interested in Christian education and youth. The young couple added an exciting new dimension to our growing church. I was impressed with Ted’s potential-even if he was a little slow in getting things done according to my standards. That would soon change, I was sure, as Ted learned my more efficient methods. It was somewhat of a shock to discover that he did not appreciate my coaching.
“I thought one of your reasons for coming here was to learn from a more experienced pastor.” I could not conceal my hurt, and Ted nodded in a reaffirming way.
“Of course I came to learn, and I’m excited about working with you because I see you as a strong pastor who is going places.”
“Thank you, Ted.” His words soothed my wounded feelings.
“But I didn’t come because I wanted to be another Don Bubna. I thought that our differences would make us a good team-I thought I would complement your role, and you would not take away from mine.”
“Mmmmm.” I nodded. Ted had a good point there.
“I share your philosophy and goals for the church,” he continued. “But I disagree with your definition of leadership.”
“And how do you define my idea of leadership?” My uneasiness had returned. After all, Ted was my twenty-six-year-old assistant, and at thirty-two I had several years experience, both as a school administrator and a pastor. In fact, I considered administration one of my strong points, and the steady growth of our congregation was pretty solid proof that I was a reasonably successful leader.
“I see you trying to lead by getting things done your way, and that will only work when the rest of us are robots.”
“And how do you feel leadership should function?” There was a defensive edge to my voice.
“It would be far better to let people do things the way they are most capable of doing them.”
In spite of my edginess, I could see some sense in Ted’s argument. Perhaps I had been pushing a little hard. “Why haven’t you said something about this before?” I covered my unrest with a smile. “We have weekly conferences precisely to talk out any difficulties.”
Ted looked awkward. “Usually during our conferences you are upset about something I haven’t done on your time schedule, and your idea of ‘talking it out’ has been to tell me how you do things so that I can do them the same way.”
I was getting a little hot under the collar. I had always considered myself a reasonable boss, but obviously Ted had a different impression.
“Has it been that bad?”
“Sometimes,” he replied. “That’s why I had to speak up before my resentment grew any bigger.”
“I appreciate your honesty-I had no idea you felt that way.” I searched for words. “I guess I just wasn’t aware of how different we are. I thought you only lacked experience.” I made an effort to smile. “Obviously I was wrong. I’ll try to do better.”
Ted looked immensely relieved. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. One of the things I appreciate about working with you is that you are a learner as well as a leader, and I feel that we can learn from each other.”
Our conversation was only the first of many like it over the next couple of years. Ted’s relaxed, easygoing manner made him popular among the people, and especially so among some who were shy and withdrawn. Around Ted they were comfortable and could open up. The young people liked him, and our Sunday school made great strides under his direction.
I made a deliberate effort not to push him, but when I said it didn’t matter how he did some things, as long as they were done on time, he usually received my comment more graciously than I had given it. The sight of his desk piled with unanswered office memos, letters, and unfinished reports had a way of setting off my fuse.
I liked Ted, and a solid friendship had grown between us, but till the day I left for Salem, Oregon, I felt that we could have accomplished a great deal more in Pacific Beach if Ted had been more like me. This feeling gave me a vague uneasiness, as though I was missing a point somewhere. I had been more and more persuaded that the miracle of the church was that people who were vastly different could learn to love one another.
When I came to Salem, I was just learning to appreciate people who were different from me, but I preferred that they did things my way. I had learned that different people could love one another, but I still saw differences as a handicap to a smooth relationship.
The first year in Salem seemed to reinforce that impression. I found Oregonians to be different from Southern Californians. My new church was forty years old and they had two hundred attending at the time I arrived. The members had indicated that the growth of Pacific Beach fellowship impressed them, and they wanted me to lead them in a more progressive program in Salem.
Part of my initial effort was to streamline the administration of the church, but some of the more conservative members were reluctant to see any changes in procedure. We agreed on the basic issues of our faith, and this forged a bond of love
between us. But the friction over organizational matters, which always occurs in the process of change, made me feel I was bucking a solid wall during some of our business meetings.
Therefore it was a great relief to get an associate pastor who was a lot like me. He was Paul Gunther, the son of a missionary and pastor who had visited our home when I was a child. His father had pastored the Salem congregation earlier in the church’s history and had really laid a sound foundation. Having Paul as an associate was like being joined by a brother. Paul, who wanted to work with a more experienced pastor in preparation for the day when he would pastor his own church, was eager to learn my methods, and I was pleased to see how well we worked together.
At first I was delighted with our similar approach to many issues and the lack of friction between us. Then I began to realize that we were similar not only in our strong points, but in our weak ones as well. There were areas in which I was not too effective, and neither was Paul. Obviously there were disadvantages to a team where the members were too much alike.
Paul was with us for a year and a half; then he was called to be the pastor of the Pacific Beach congregation I had formerly served. They loved him from the start, but I had begun to wish for an associate pastor who could do some of the things I couldn’t do, and maybe even do them differently than I would have done them. I was talking to my wife about it one day when she looked at me with a direct gaze of her blue eyes and said, “Why don’t you come right out and say you wish Ted Zabel was here . “
“I guess that’s what I’m really thinking, isn’t it?” I chuckled in spite of myself. “I’m beginning to appreciate Ted for his differences instead of in spite of them. He was just the balance I needed because he was different. It was good for both of us and for the church.”
I knew that Ted had returned to seminary, and had a year to go before graduation. We interviewed others to take Paul’s place, but the idea of working
with Ted stayed in the back of my mind. In January he came to Salem to talk about it. His relaxed, easygoing manner hadn’t changed a bit, and the congregation immediately liked him.
“You know, I’d like to work with you, Don,” he said, “but it won’t be easy. We’re as different as ever, and I’ll never become a carbon copy of you no matter how hard I try or you might push.”
“That’s why I want you here,” I said. “I need your differences. The church needs them. I can’t give them what you have to offer.”
The grin was the same. “I need what you are,” Ted said. “My ambition is not to become a senior pastor. I want to commit myself to be part of a team that can grow together over the years.”
“I appreciate that.” I felt strangely moved.
“I think the church can only be built on a longterm commitment to each other,” Ted went on. “It is a little like a marriage in that respect. We commit ourselves to love and accept one another and to grow together through some hard times and good times. There can be no backing out when the going gets rough.”
“I accept that commitment,” I said slowly. “If you sense that God is calling you here, I am prepared to make the same commitment to you.” I smiled. “You and I may have different styles and gifts, but we are both committed to Christ and to one another, and I believe that is the heart of the church.”
When Ted and I shook hands, I had the distinct feeling that our differences would somehow serve to strengthen the bond of love between us instead of weakening it as I had once thought. The leadership of our congregation agreed unanimously to wait until Ted’s graduation in June to fill the position of minister of Christian education. His coming marked an exciting step for me and for our church fellowship. I was beginning to see that our differences are not meant to separate us but to draw us together. This is the new and exciting perspective on relationships that only Christianity has to offer.
Ted, who is a capable song leader, likes to remind us that harmony in the church isn’t achieved by everybody hitting the same note on the piano. That would only produce a dull, monotonous sound. Instead we are to be like a full orchestra and choir blending in perfect harmony because each is tuned to the same pitch and following the same conductor. Yet to the listening ear, the differences in the instruments and voices remain distinct. A piano isn’t supposed to sound like a trumpet, and a soprano doesn’t sing like a baritone.
I Hear You Say You Love Me
It is a weakness of mine to be impatient with other people’s weaknesses. My first impulse to speak is often tainted by mixed motives. In order to check myself, I sometimes first express my frustration on paper, and then/ with my motives somewhat purer, I am able to speak in a more helpful way.
At one point I was quite upset with a leader in the church because his committee was behind schedule. I had sense enough to know that I was unable to speak the truth in an encouraging way. Instead I wrote the man a note I did not intend to mail. At the top of the page I put: “This is what I feel.” Then I wrote:
“Dear Brother: I have mixed feelings of hurt and frustration. You and I used to be close. I feel you are not interested in matters that are your primary responsibility in the church. Am I seeing it wrong? Are you responding out of hurt and frustration over my impatience?”
Putting that note aside, I could write an encouragement card saying, Brother, I really miss you . . . Love, Don.”
The next day I avoided direct confrontation with him, and the following day we were together in a committee meeting. He contributed a real insight to our discussion, and I expressed appreciation for that. The next day I wrote another encouragement card, thanking him again for what he had said. By then my feelings of frustration were diminished, and so was my need to tell him where he was wrong.
To speak the truth in love is my responsibility as a Christian, but in my humanness, the urge to speak is not always prompted by a spirit of love. Being slow-to speak is a good way to filter our words, while praying much for God to purify our motives .
It is the Holy Spirit in us that confronts the world with the truth. My part is to come in humility to my brother. The Holy Spirit will make him see his wrong without me having to spell it out for him (John 16:8). Often a question will prompt our brother to think through his situation for himself.
A young man had been elected to an office in the fellowship but when summer came and school let out, he and his family seldom came to church on Sunday. I saw him one day and said: “We miss seeing you on a regular basis on Sundays.”
His smile was a little hesitant. “I feel my first responsibility is to my family, and the kids need the experience of camping out during the summer.”
“I agree that your first responsibility is to your family,” I said. “But I just want to ask you this: are you entirely satisfied with how you’re handling that responsibility for the summer?”
He looked at me, then said a little curtly, “I’m satisfied.”
”That’s all I want to know.” We chatted briefly, and parted with a warm handshake.
Before long the family were in church regularly on Sunday again, and the young man told me, “The last time we talked, you didn’t pressure me to come to church, but I couldn’t get away from your question. You see, I wasn’t really satisfied with camping every weekend, and you sort of confronted me with it, while giving Me the freedom to make my own decision.”
I am not always so tactful. One Sunday morning I saw Brad Coleman and a friend leave the church building during the Sunday school hour, heading for the coffee shop. Brad was Assistant Sunday School Superintendent at the time, and there was always the possibility he would be needed during the class session. Just as I was getting ready to go into the second worship service, I ran into Brad and his friend coming back from their little expedition.
Fighting to control myself I said, “I hope you weren’t going where I thought you were going when I saw you leave!”
They looked like schoolboys caught skipping a class, and I lost my control, fairly yelling down the hall. My outburst caught them by surprise. Brad, who caught the brunt of my displeasure, looked hurt and embarrassed. By now I was angry with both of us, and hurried into the service with an urgent, “Help! I failed again!” directed heavenward.
Later I was able to say to Brad, “Will you accept my apology for speaking the way I did?”
He grinned and took my outstretched hand. “I guess we both blew it,” he said. “It was a dumb thing to do.”
Years later Brad told me that my apology had made a greater impression than my anger. “You thought enough of me to say you were sorry-even if I had been wrong. It made me feel better about making a mistake. I learned that pastors make them too and have to apologize like the rest of us.”
Our truth-speaking is less likely to be misunderstood when we have first established a relationship of love. This kind of open, accepting relationship allows us to remove our pretenses and see each other as less than perfect. Then we can say to one another, “How do you see me? Do I talk too much, or too harshly? Do I come across as critical or self-centered?” To answer less than honestly is to be less than loving. Truth, spoken in love, helps us see ourselves more clearly and helps us grow.
Sometimes a painful truth is the most loving thing we can say to someone. I have had them said to me. One of the men on the executive committee called one day and invited me for lunch. Before we went out to eat, he said, “I need to talk to you.”
“Co ahead.”
He cleared his throat. “I need to be honest with you, Don. I see you pressing so-and-so too hard. You are just frustrating him. I know you don’t mean to, but you do.”
I felt uncomfortable, but it was clear that my friend felt even worse. Thanking him, I said, “I know this was a tough thing to do, but it tells me that you love me, or you wouldn’t have taken the risk of confronting me.”
My friend helped me see how others saw me. That can be both an encouraging and difficult thing to face. I have learned to ask frequently in conversations, “What do you hear me say?” And I often summarize what others say to me: “This is what I understand you are saying . . .”
Most of us . have the habit of speaking before we’ve thought something through. Hearing our own words echoed back to us can be helpful and sometimes surprising.
At a board meeting, one of the men expressed vaguely negative feelings about an upcoming project he was assigned to lead. I felt he needed to get his feelings out into the open so that he could honestly say no to a task he did not want to do.
I said, “Brother, I heard you, and it helps me to see that you don’t really want to do this thing.”
He looked surprised. “Is that what you heard me say?”
He looked thoughtful and later told me, “I’ve come to realize that I really do want that challenge. Thanks for helping me see my indecisiveness.” He headed up the project with zest and with excellent results.
To become a whole person,. as God plans for us, we need the relationship with those who love us enough to help us face ourselves as we are.
A middle-aged housewife had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown when she first came to our church. She faced problems at home in her relationships with her husband and children, but her biggest problem was herself. She began to attend a Wednesday night study and sharing group where she found freedom to talk about how she really felt about things.
“I was sometimes angry, upset, or negative,” she said. “But they weren’t threatened. They listened to me, prayed for me, and pointed out my blind spots; but it was such a gentle form of reproof. Never in my life had I been reproved any way but harshly. I brought my whole muddled up mess of a life in there and they cared enough not to talk about it outside the group. They really loved me.”
Because she felt the overwhelming sense of her friends’ love, she was able to take their gentle reproof without feeling threatened.
A church that is learning to discipline in love will be a strong church. Bernie Chipman, a young housewife in our fellowship, says, “I think that’s why I feel so secure in this church. Like a family. The love includes authority, direction, and discipline. We know what God is saying, and what he expects of us. We’re not just doing our own thing.”
Without discipline, our love is not complete. And without love, discipline destroys instead of building up. Our fellowship is a call to mutual love and submission, and there is no greater challenge to that call than when a member of the body strays from God’s truth.
Historically the church has a poor record of loving discipline (probably due in part to the most glaring mistakes getting the most publicity). We must acknowledge shameful things like the Inquisition, burnings at the stake, and persecutions. All were performed by those who claimed to be guardians of the truth. In contrast, some modern churches have leaned over backward in permissiveness to the point of failing to affirm the absolute nature of God’s truth.
In churches where we hold the Bible as our authority, we sometimes try to avoid the issue by looking the other way when we first become aware of someone wandering from the truth. If the wrong reaches scandalous proportions, we are forced to excommunicate the culprit to save the reputation of our fellowship.
Our reluctance to administer discipline is understandable. Many groups have gained a reputation as “narrowminded legalists” who are fond of rules and regulations. Our critics frequently quote Jesus’ words, “Judge not, or you will be judged,” and we don’t want to be guilty of that!
It is true that we are never to judge one another’s worth, but the Bible tells us to correct one another when we wander from God’s truth. Paul wrote: “If a man should be detected in some sin, my brothers, the spiritual ones among you should quietly set him back on the right path, not with any feeling of superiority, but being yourselves on guard against temptation. Help one another to carry these heavy loads, and so live out the law of Christ” (Gal. 6:1, paraphrased) .
In the Greek text, the word for “setting him back on the right path” is “equip.” Discipline is part of the equipping we all need at times, and its purpose is to strengthen and restore, not condemn or destroy.
The responsibility for setting a wanderer back on the right path is given to “the spiritual ones” among us. I understand that to refer to the elders in the fellowship, not individually but collectively. Here is one case in which there is safety in numbers. In our humanness, no one of us alone is capable of judging whether someone else is straying from the truth. If we sense that a brother or sister is on the wrong track, we are to take it to an elder, and the elders together are to submit the matter in prayer to the head of the church, Jesus Christ, and ask for wisdom. In our Salem fellowship the elders
deal with the matters of discipline. I am only involved as their coach and fellow elder.
No other aspect of leadership requires as much awareness of our humanness and God’s grace. Before we can go in love to someone who is doing wrong, we must sense that no matter what they have done, or how we may feel about it, God has not removed his lovingkindness from them, and neither must we. God’s purpose for discipline is always restoration, and we can never forget that.
Often an elder must wrestle with his own critical feelings and find forgiveness for them before he is ready to speak to a wandering brother or sister in a spirit of gentleness that says, “I see you are hurting, let me help you face up to this thing in your life.”
The wanderer may be defensive and critical of our judgment. Our task is not to tell him what he already knows in his heart, but to give him the encouragement and support he needs to confess his wrong and turn from it.
In the parable of the prodigal son, Jesus shows us the picture of God as the loving Father who waits with open arms for the errant child to return home. He speaks no word of rebuke, or “I told you so.” His is a love that forgives and never mentions the wrong again. That is our pattern.
When our elders have to confront people in love, the situation most often remains a very private one before one or two elders and the person who needed help.
Over the years we’ve had our share of teen-age marriages at Salem. Some young couples who have been very sincere in their commitment to one another nevertheless have found themselves facing a premarital pregnancy. We don’t consider pregnancy sufficient grounds for marriage, and a seling pastor will attempt to make certain that the couple share a deep commitment to each other and to Christ before we will agree to marry them.
The case will be discussed by our elders, and one or two men will meet with the couple to help them face their situation in light of God’s Word. Usually the young people are greatly relieved to deal with their guilt before God in the presence of the elders who accept and forgive them.
When other young people in the church are aware of the situation, there is often unspoken embarrassment and a strain on the relationships. In such a case, the elders will suggest that the matter be dealt with openly before those who are directly concerned. It is difficult but sometimes necessary to say to those we have hurt: “We have violated God’s law and yours. We have confessed our sin to him, and we need to confess it to you. We have asked Cod’s forgiveness, and now we ask yours.”
Such a confession is painful but always brings a release and restoration of the relationship between the young couple and their friends. Once their sin has been confessed and forgiven, they are free to be open and honest. The invisible wall of suspicion, embarrassment, and pretending is removed.
Only once have we found it necessary to excommunicate a brother from the fellowship. It was a case of adultery in which the husband moved out to live with another woman. When confronted by first his elder, then a pastor, he did not want to speak to them. He no longer attended the church, and he made it clear that he would continue in his new life-style.
Without mentioning the man’s name, the elder reported the case to the board, and after prayer it was agreed to send the man a letter, which in essence said:
Dear brother:
As we understand the Word of God, you are violating the biblical principles concerning marriage . …
We sense an unwillingness on your part to speak to us about it, and as we understand the Word of God, we are required to deal with it. At our next elders meeting, the coming Tuesday, we will recommend that you be dismissed from membership. You are welcome to the meeting to discuss it with us then.
We want you to know that we believe the loving thing for us to do is to confront you with what we see to be the violation of God’s truth. We do it in the hope that you will turn in repentance and faith to God who forgives and redeems us.
This is not done with a view to permanent dismissal, but with a hope of your restoration to our fellowship .
We are looking forward to the time when you will come to talk to us about these things.
Your brothers.
Paul found it necessary to instruct the church in Corinth to excommunicate a brother who persisted in violating God’s truth (1 Cor. 5). Some time later, Paul wrote, “He has been punished enough by your united disapproval. Now it is time to forgive him and comfort him” (2 Cor. 2:6, 7 TLB). The purpose of discipline is always redemption. A loving fellowship is accepting, encouraging, and caring. It loves by facing up to reality. It disciplines, and it forgives and restores the returning wanderer.
The Greatest Need in the Church
This brings us to the issue of authority and submission, perhaps the trickiest aspect of human relationships. It is also the one most misunderstood and misused down through history, even in the church For love to become a practical reality–in our home, church, or society-we have to learn the proper relationships of authority and submission.
Jesus Christ was given authority to execute judgment over a fallen world. He used that authority to submit to judgment himself in our place on the cross. God then established his church-with Jesus Christ as the Head-to demonstrate his love in action among humans. It was to be God’s way to “show and tell” how human relationships were meant to function through the proper use of authority and submission.
That was to be the key to love in the church. Certain qualifications were listed for the selection of elders who would have authority to rule the fellowship, not according to the pattern of the world, but as Jesus had taught his disciples:
“You know that those who are recognized as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them; and their great men exercise authority over them. But it is not so among you, but whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant; and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be slave of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many” (Mark 10:42-45, NASB).
As a boy I had great ambitions for my future, but there was one position I never aspired to: that of a servant. Servants had to do things no one else wanted to do, and as the oldest of three brothers, I had already learned to use my authority to claim the better household chores.
When I was a senior in high school, my parents decided that our family would be the janitors for the new building our church had bought. We moved into a basement apartment, and guess who got to clean the four restrooms twice a week?
You guessed right, but I didn’t like it. When I first became a pastor and sometimes quoted Jesus’ words about being a servant, I thought my “servanthood” properly consisted of being the leader while I urged others to serve by doing the “lesser chores” of singing in the choir, teaching Sunday school, or being on committees.
God chose to place imperfect humans as leaders in his church, and that hasn’t changed since the first century. The imperfect leaders of today are still tempted to rule as the world rules. Perhaps the difference between the world’s pattern for authority and that of Christ can best be illustrated by the story of a woman who was married to a tyrant. He gave her a written list of duties and regulations and exercised rigid control over her actions, but she never seemed to be able to do everything he asked of her.
The tyrant died, and the woman married a kind and loving man who selflessly gave of himself without demanding anything in return. Several years later the woman came across the old list her first husband had written. To her great surprise she realized that she was doing all the things that had once been required of her, but with joy.
Paul wrote: “Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus. Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind let each regard one another as more important than himself” (Phil. 2:5, 3, NASB).
Paul was addressing everybody in the church, including the pastors and elders. Perhaps especially the leaders. It is easy to consider yourself more important when you’re put up front, and that attitude destroys the principal task of leadership: that of building others up, encouraging them to grow, and being their example in Christlikeness.
True submission can only be a voluntary action. Most of us have a false concept of it. We think that being put down makes us automatically submissive. That isn’t true. The wife who is dominated by an oppressive husband isn’t necessarily a submissive wife, although she may be doing everything she is told. She may be just suppressed and resenting it. Meaningful submission is an inner attitude of consideration for the other person that makes him feel worthy and loved. Such an attitude does not develop on demand.
The ability to submit requires a healthy self-image. Submission implies a willingness to bend my will to others and consider them more important than I am. If I feel unworthy and insignificant, I tend to be defensive, aggressive, and boasting to cover my insecurity. My behavior becomes assertive, competitive, and threatening, the very opposite of submissive.
When my self-esteem is low, submission seems a fearful and threatening thing to my already bruised ego. Only the Holy Spirit can give me the inner assurance of self-worth that makes me risk bending my will to someone else. That assurance grows as we are appreciated and encouraged in a koinonia fellowship of believers.
Submission is the mark of spirituality, and as we mature in Christlike qualities, we should become more submissive, more loving. That speaks to me of the fact that elders should be the leading examples of submission in any church.
But why all this talk of submission? Can’t we be loving without it? Not really. Because to be truly loving means that I am willing to consider someone else’s needs before my own. Another word for that is submission.
Submission is also the key to our relationship with God. The only way to find my new life in Christ, the new birth, and the fulfillment of my potential as a unique child of God is through the voluntary act of bending my will to the will of God. Another word for that is submission.
Ever since I was a child, I have known the verse, “If anyone wishes to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. For whoever wishes to save his life shall lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel’s shall save it” (Mark 8:34, SS, NASB). For many years these words made little sense to me.
It was Judy Garland who finally brought it all into focus for me. I never met her, but we grew up at the same time; and while I was still playing sandlot football in St. Louis, she was a star who won an Oscar for her performance in “The Wizard of Oz.” She was something of an idol to my group, who thought that if anybody had it made, it was Judy Garland. I lost track of what was happening in her i life until I came across an interview with her as she was getting ready to marry for the third or fourth time. She was quoted as saying, “I have finally found happiness.” Two weeks later she committed suicide.
It made me sit down and consider some things about my own life. As a teen-ager I had dreamed of winning fame and fortune, but instead I made the difficult decision to follow Christ. I thought I was giving up a lot of things, but instead I found more happiness than I ever thought possible. I wouldn’t trade places with anyone, and sometimes I feel almost guilty for being paid a salary for doing what I enjoy the most.
We resist submission to God’s will because we S think it means an end to everything we’ve ever j wanted. The death to self is never easy, but the end result is a new and better life. Before the foundation of the world, God ordained the principle of submission before exaltation. God’s way up is down, even for himself, in the person of his Son. Some fear that 5 submission to the body is a threat to their individual freedom. I need to realize that I can’t reach my full potential as a thumb or an eye unless I bend my will to the body I belong to.
I believe God has placed me as pastor/teacher in Salem, but I don’t have an infallible view of what is to take place in the church, and therefore my gift needs to be augmented by the rest of the body. I sense more now than ever before that I need the discipline of working with others. I sometimes want to move too fast or try too much, and that is when God in his wisdom allows the executive committee or our elders to decide against my proposals (as they did recently with a vote of thirteen to my one).
Our executive committee must grapple with decisions about finance, buildings, and programs. I am convinced we would get hopelessly bogged down if we were not committed to one another and to Christ. The men come from a wide variety of backgrounds, economically, socially, and educationally. There is a wide age span, and some have been in the church more than twenty years, some for only two. It is easy for me to feel defensive and pressured when some have a need to ask a lot of questions, but I am learning that I need to hear them, especially as the church is growing and requires expanded facilities, budgets, and programs.
One executive committee meeting faced an agenda I had dreaded for some time. The chairman of the elders had just finished his first year on the committee, and was the first man to speak up:
“This has been the most difficult year of my life,” he began. “I had never served on a board before, and the first three months my head was spinning. I didn’t understand what you guys were talking about, and I felt angry and lost. I was almost going to quit. But I want you to know that God has pressed me to grow, and I have really learned some things . “
The youngest member on the committee responded, “I started this year not very enthusiastic about my responsibilities, but I want you to know that you guys have really touched my life.” He looked around the circle of faces, and the young man next to him punched his arm and said gruffly, “You dummy, you are going to make me cry, but I want to tell you it has meant a lot to me to watch you grow this year.”
After an hour of sharing, praying, and thanking God for one another, our difficult business meeting took place in great harmony, although there was not agreement among us. Submitting to one another does not mean we will all agree, but the peace of Christ will rule our hearts.
As senior pastor/coach, I am the principal mood-setter of our fellowship. If there is a wrong attitude among us, I need to first examine myself. We are to be a loving, caring, accepting family, marked by mutual submission. If the pastors don’t love one another or get along with the elders, our message of love from the pulpit will bear little fruit.
Christian leadership is being an example of growing in Christ-likeness. If I’m not maturing, no one will follow me into Christ-likeness. I may be an efficient organizer of a growing church, but if no one matures in his Christian life by following me, I’m not a Christian leader in the true sense of the word.
Some years ago I was rather exasperated with a young man in our church whom I will call Rick. I considered him bull-headed and inconsiderate, and he had hurt some people’s feelings by rushing ahead with some things that should have been handled with patience. Most of all I wanted to shake him and say, “Why don’t you grow up!”
At that time I was studying Paul’s letter to the Ephesians and preaching from the fourth chapter, which says, “Be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults, because of your love.” Now that was something Rick really needed to learn, I thought. Perhaps, if I made an effort to be his friend, l could tell him.
It was in the fall of the year, and I needed fire wood. Rick had mentioned he knew where to get I some free wood, so rather than getting a cord of cut wood brought to the house for $20, I asked Rick, “How about taking me out to get some wood?”
“Sure.” He looked eager. “I know a lady who has a cousin who owns some land, and I’ll cut the wood and bring it to your house for you.”
“I would enjoy going with you,” I said. “I like being out in the woods this time of year.”
Rick grinned. “Great, I don’t go to work till noon, we can get out there and be back at your house in a couple of hours any day you want.”
We agreed to go on Monday, my day off, and Rick was at my house with his pickup truck before 7 A.M. On our way out of town I began to suspect that he had never been where we were going, and asked, “Did you call to say we were coming?”
My companion smiled confidently, “No, but it’s OK. I have permission.”
There was a gnawing unease in the back of my mind, but I said nothing as we swung off the road, down through an old orchard, to a heap of fallen oakwood bulldozed together. It was fine-looking wood, and in an hour the truck was loaded with half a cord. The exercise had done me good, and I breathed deeply in the air, fresh after the heavy rains.
We started up the grassy slope towards the pavement-and got stuck. Rick backed up and made another run-and we got stuck again. An hour later we were still backing up and trying.
My inward frustration was mounting-my anger too. Rick ought to have known better than get off the road after the rain without four-wheel drive!
“Do you have towing insurance?”
He shook his head, and I was afraid I was going to lose my temper.
“I think we need to pray,” I said with outward calm. “Then let’s go over to that farmhouse and find someone to pull us out.”
Rick glanced at me sideways as I bowed my head. “God, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I accept it as something from you.”
The need to explode had left me, and at the farmhouse I introduced myself to the farmer’s wife and told her we were cutting wood on so and so’s property, and were stuck.
“That is not so and so’s property.” The lady wasn’t smiling. “That’s our property.”
I didn’t look at Rick and said, “Would you like to sell me half a cord of wood?”
She wasn’t quite sure, but after some talking, I was allowed to pay $19 for the wood that hadn’t really been for sale in the first place. It was almost twice the price per cord I would have paid to have it delivered.
Next we called a tow truck. When it arrived and I saw it was a small one, I asked the driver before he left the pavement if he thought he had adequate equipment to get us out.
“No problem.” He looked almost a little hurt that I had raised the question. “If we need any help, I’ve got a two-way radio.”
I watched him pull off the road, back into the orchard-and get stuck.~~After an hour of trying to get him out (the two-way radio wasn’t working), we agreed it would be best to call a bigger tow truck to get us both out. It was almost noon, and Rick said, “I won’t get to work on time anyway, so I’ll go back to the farmhouse and make the call.”
While he was gone, I was thinking, “God, I’m so upset. What in the world are you trying to do?” To my fuming head came the quiet thought, “Perhaps God is trying to teach you something.”
I was almost calm when Rick came back with the news that the second tow truck was out on call and couldn’t get there for another hour.
With amazing restraint I said, “You’ve got to get to work, and I’ve got a lot to do today, and this is frustrating to both of us. So I think we need to ask God to give us the right answer about it.”
We prayed and sat there talking, when Rick said, “You know Pastor, this is really a significant day for me.”
“How’s that?” I looked at my young friend and his eyes were lit up.
“I’ve always wondered how you would react under pressure.”
“I’ve come close to blowing it,” I admitted, and Rick nodded. “Me, too, but it’s really neat to see you in a tough spot like this.”
I was thanking God for keeping my lid on when the second tow truck arrived. It was big-but it got stuck. Now there were three trucks in line on the slick slope. The big truck had a winch, and by fastening the cable around a fruit tree, we were able to move a few yards at a time. One tree looked rotten, and I said, “Are you sure it will hold?” “Sure,” said the driver, and a few seconds later the old tree went kerplunk.
It took us an hour to make the 200 yards to the pavement. Rick and I had started up the slope five hours earlier.
At the garage I was charged only $50 for the two trucks, since I had pointed out to the driver that his equipment might not be adequate. The total cost for my “free wood” was $69, which I was able to pay without a sense of great loss. The day had turned out to be a meaningful experience.
On the way to my house Rick said, “You know, today has been a real happening. I’ve learned something. “
“So have I,” I said. “It wasn’t an easy thing, but I’m glad we went through it together.”
The final scene of that day’s comedy of errors came when I was told that someone had broken into the church that morning and stolen some office supplies. The sexton didn’t hide his smile when he said, “I understand that while the church was broken into, you were out stealing wood!”
Being an example is an awesome thing. God in his sovereignty has chosen to place this kind of responsibility on human beings, not because we are perfect, but because we are people in the process of becoming more Christlike.
The very fact that we aren’t perfect makes the process more evident. My own failures make me aware of my inadequacy and dependence on Christ. I could easily have lost my temper with Rick that memorable day, and I think it was evident to him that his pastor was not a patient man but that God gave him patience.
The greatest need in the church is for mutual servanthood, but it begins with the elders. We don’t teach submission by demanding that others yield to us, but by submitting to them. If our attitude of servanthood is genuine, others will sense more of their own worth, and will be given the desire to follow in submission.
All along, Jesus was trying to communicate to his disciples that the way to find life is to give it up, the way to use authority is to submit, and the key to being a leader is to master servanthood.
“They will know you are my disciples because you love one another,” Jesus said. Mature Christian love is expressed in mutual servanthood. A church where this is in process will be an accepting and loving fellowship where we find ourselves by giving ourselves.
Copyright © 1980 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
