When a grassroots church calls a green pastor, spiritual growth often suffers.
Why?
A young pastor’s theological expertise often exceeds his ability to cherish each of his charges. He wants to communicate the gospel in fresh ways to ears accustomed to threadbare formulas, so he puts his energies there.
Changing “threadbare formulas” disturbs the grassroots church member. Formulas that are timeworn for a new pastor are time-tested for most of the people. They want to hear them as they’ve always heard them; and they want to hear them from someone who cares. The common man doesn’t read theology, he lives it.
This mismatch often occurs in small-town churches, since financially they can afford only inexperienced pastors. Every few years Smallville calls yet another brand-new preacher.
The following two pieces represent each side of this mismatch. Mrs. Floyd K. Chapman, who lives in a small (1064 population) Midwestern town, wrote Joe Bayly in response to an article she read about the suspicions some laymen have of their ministers. Stephen D. Englehardt, pastor of the United Methodist Church in Taylorsville, Kentucky, wrote an article for the September/October 1979 issue of Good News magazine, in which he recalls his struggle as a new pastor in a smalltown church.
The Big Truth About Many Preachers
I like to think I am a voice from the grassroots.
I am more than sixty years of age, a full-time employee of the local weekly paper, a substitute public school teacher, and the superintendent of the Sunday school of the First Baptist Church. I have lived on a farm or in a small town most of my life. I love the Lord and his work and, I must confess, I like people. We often talk of things related to the church, our Lord, and his Word.
On Sunday we go to church; we like to hear about Jesus because he loved us enough to put up withour failings. We are not especially interested in economics, except as it affects us directly; or in politics, except in presidential voting years. But we respect freedom beyond words. We despise anything that makes us lose our self-respect and, much talk to the contrary, we fear the creeping socialism that has made so many dependent upon the monthly government check that puts bread in our mouths.
We know that we are not learned or smart, and we fear people who are unless they love us. Love is something one feels, and if one is loved, he overlooks so much.
Can you take the truth, the fact that too many of our ministers do not like people? They love subject matter, but are not sympathetic to the daily problems and weaknesses of the common man. They think they know it all-and do not give the other fellow credit for any knowledge. This is not a weakness confined to ministers in our denomination.
I am only a small-town woman, but I am sincere when I say there are some qualifications a minister must have. Without them, regardless of denomination, he will be accused of everything under the sun-including communism.
A. He must have had a sincere Christian experience, and must love the Lord and his work.
B. He must have had a certain amount of training in Bible, organization, and methods.
C. He must be willing to work; not too proud to use his hands at times nor to ask for help if he needs it.
D. He must really like people-more than books, more than organization, and more than position. E. He must lead his people as a shepherd and not try to drive them with a whip.
Learning from Failure
My view of the church through the parsonage window misted and blurred. In a few moments I would enter the doors and preach a final sermon to that congregation. My tears were not an emotion of farewell. I had been a failure. I could no longer escape that reality.
Oh, the denominational commitments had been met. Some of our local church projects had been completed. Well-meaning friends praised me for the pastoral job I was doing. But they didn’t know the battles that were being fought.
Too often my successes as pastor had come at the expense of other people’s feelings. This insensitivity resulted in public and private attacks on each other’s Christianity. Mutual intolerance had left hurt feelings. The church’s effectiveness had been crippled, and every confrontation only helped to further devalue the spiritual investment we had made.
My time of reckoning had come at last. A pastor who can enjoy the yield of victory must also partake of the harvest of failure.
How could it have happened?
Thinking back to my final year of seminary, I found myself identifying with Peter. All others might deny and fall away, but I would not! After all, I was finishing seminary. T had a supportive family and a well-paying student church. I was becoming increasingly creative as a writer and composer. The world should have been mine to divide and conquer.
Yet now, two years later, on that overcast morning with tears rolling down my cheeks, I found myself to be the conquered one. The only effect missing was the crowing of the cock. Placed before my eyes was the account listing my share of the blame.
Why hadn’t I achieved great things for God? Because I’d neglected the little things. My people had refused to repent because I had refused to love them. Exposed to the disease of spiritual pride, I had fallen victim to defeat and despair.
The problem is not with me, I kept reminding myself, it’s with them! Brandishing this gavel of judgment, I divided the congregation into two classes. There were the “spiritual” people, hungry and visionary, who saw things my way. And there were the traditionalists, whose foot-dragging, spiritually-atrophied presence grated on my nerves. So a whip became the symbol of my ministry. I was driving my cattle instead of leading his sheep.
Like an early morning splash of cold water in the face, failure has had a vigorous effect on me. Light has come via the truths I had ignored: loving, intercessory prayer; self-discipline; and daily devotions.
These stunning realities forced me to reevaluate my life, my faith, my call. A new appointment afforded me three great blessings: a fresh perspective, a clean slate, and time, the precious harbor of reflection. Now I am convinced anew of God’s love for me. I have been reunited with the conviction of my call into his ministry.
Most of us are harnessed in some fashion to the wheel of progress, position, and pace. Caught in a dizzy, daily maelstrom, we can easily lose perspective. Tragedy looms ahead when we drift away from intimate fellowship with the Father. I know-it was my private taste of hell.
Every unholy habit and attitude must come before the Creator’s scrutiny. That wasn’t especially easy for me-not when the aroma of my spiritual arrogance had numbed the desire for selflessness. I could relate to Dorothy and her companions in the immortal Wizard of Oz. They nearly succumbed to the spell of the poppies, even with Oz in sight! We must repel any devotional drowsiness and press on toward the New Jerusalem.
So now I join the list of those who have learned the hard way, those who will always carry a watchfulness for the effects of diminished devotions.
Copyright © 1980 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
