Lynn Buzzard was not yet out of Duke Divinity School when he faced his first political dilemma: the largest donor in his student pastorate quit giving. A third of the church's budget suddenly evaporated.
"My basic nature in those days was to run from conflict," he notes. "So I didn't say anything to the man; I just resented him and felt persecuted. I learned secondhand what the problems were: he found me too conservative … and I hadn't visited his son in the hospital enough. (I've always suspected it was more the second than the first!)"
The little North Carolina church survived, gradually replacing the lost income, and so did Lynn Buzzard's ministry. After pastoring a second church near the seminary, he returned to his native Pacific Northwest to work with the Christian Medical Society and also to co-pastor Bothell United Methodist Church outside Seattle. When invited to teach at Northern Baptist Seminary near Chicago, he accepted and also served as associate pastor of the Village Church of Western Springs for six years. His wife is still the church's director of Christian education.
Since 1971, he has been executive director of the Christian Legal Society and an articulate spokesman for the church's role in reconciliation. As part of CLS's Christian Conciliation Service, Lynn Buzzard has personally been a mediator or arbitrator in about thirty-five different church disputes. He is the author of four books, including Tell It to the Church: Reconciling Out of Court, and has three more in process. To complement his ministerial training, he is now finishing his law degree at DePaul University.
On the morning after the Chicago mayoral election with Harold Washington's victory still echoing in the air, Terry Muck, Dean Merrill, and Marshall Shelley sat down with Lynn Buzzard to talk about politics in the local church.
Is church politics an evil to be expelled, or an unfortunate necessity?
Your question almost assumes that politics is distasteful; I'd rather take an optimistic view. Politics, to me, is simply the means by which we govern ourselves, make decisions, allocate resources, and determine the sense of the body.
I know the word politics is used to describe the many abuses of the process, the back room wheeling and dealing. Politicking especially is used by anyone who doesn't like the result! It's a label for saying a decision wasn't spiritual or was the result of "power" (by which people mean they lost).
What's a nicer synonym?
I hesitate to choose one, because it might be a word just as loaded the other way-a very religious word, something soft and sweet. I'd rather have us recognize that decision making in the church is not just about sweetness; it is in fact about power, about choices, about competing values, self-interests, noble ideals, anger, and all the rest.
This is especially true if a church has any character of mission. If a church is more than just a koinonia group-if it in fact is moving toward something, then there's going to be debate about what that something is and how we get there and who's going to lead us. These are political issues-questions of governance-and there's no need to try to sanitize or spiritualize them.
Many leaders take it as a sign of personal failure when there's a fight or hassle in the church. "If I'd done a better job, this wouldn't have happened. Where did I go wrong?"
I disagree. In fact, I believe a certain level of ongoing conflict or tension probably ought to be part of the church-again, if it is attempting anything important, and if anybody has strong feelings about that.
I could almost argue that a church with no conflicts is the one suffering from weak pastoral leadership. Either the pastor is failing to inspire anyone enough to care, or he's repressing conflict, or-the most common situation-he's encouraging an avoidance of it.
Eventually, of course, the lid blows off such a church, and I grant that that is an indictment of leadership for not encouraging openness at an earlier level. The pastoral task is not to prevent but to intervene, to manage conflict productively. It's what you do with conflict that counts most.
We haven't developed a very good theology of conflict in the church. We've talked so much about unity and peace. Nobody ever says, "Wouldn't it be nice if we had a few quarrels?" But when you look historically for the great moments of the church-the kind of things we make movies and write books about-they're chock-full of angry, bitter conflict! No one ever hails those quiet times when everybody was having wonderful potluck suppers together.
But didn't Jesus pray that we all would be one?
There surely must be a difference between the high goal of oneness and political unanimity. I was in a Bible study not long ago where we were discussing Romans 13:13-"Let us behave decently, as in the daytime, … not in dissension and jealousy," and one lay person commented that dissension and dissent might in fact be quite different things. No dissension, we concluded, is where the body struggles with what it's going to do and finally settles on a plan of action-and those who might not have chosen that plan decide not to be disturbers of the process from that point on. They may choose to wait to fight another day-which is legitimate-but they recognize that the body has made up its mind, and from that point on, they do not create dissension.
This is one of the most healthy kinds of oneness, because it's wholistic. It's not just a unity of those who remain after all the others have trotted off to other churches. And it is quite different from unanimity, which says, "We're not going to do anything until everyone agrees." It is a post-conflict kind of unity, based on more than just "Birds of a feather flock together."
One usually doesn't go down to the Republican party headquarters and cheer everyone present for being Republican. The miracle of the church, indeed, its "born-againness," is that its unity emerges from separateness, differentness, the alien and stranger being brought into citizenship in the kingdom of God. That's what the Jerusalem conference of Acts 15 was all about, by the way. Unity becomes precious when you walk through conflict in order to reach it.
So conflict is good for what it produces?
Yes-and I'm not even sure that conflict isn't occasionally good in itself. In a sense, it expresses that something important is going on. It helps people clarify what they really believe. It causes people to realize, "Hey, there really are two ways to look at this, aren't there?"
One person has said that conflict empowers. It gets us out of our lethargy and forces us to identify. Paul's confrontation with Peter in Galatians 2 brought some very strategic issues to a head.
Saul Alinsky (not a noted theologian, I admit) has a line that intrigues me: "Change means movement, and movement means friction, and friction means heat, and heat means conflict. You just can't get the rocket off the ground discreetly and quietly."
There's a lot of talk in the church these days about leadership through consensus. Many people are discussing it, yearning for it, trying it. Can they succeed?
I tend to be troubled by a view that says, "We won't do anything unless everyone agrees," or to put it in spiritual jargon, "until the Spirit has led everyone to a sense of peace about this." I find no biblical warrant for it. Certainly the prophets didn't reduce truth or action to the least common denominator they could get everybody to buy.
This view seems to impede the role of leadership and give the veto to the blocker, the most irascible person in the group. The theory, of course, is that such a person finally senses how the wind is blowing in the group and yields. Maybe so-but the blockers I've met are not usually impressed with what the 90 percent want! They seem to thrive on being dissenters.
If by consensus one means that people do yield to the will of the group and that, in turn, the group will not proceed so long as there are members who would be seriously disturbed by such action-that's better. But I still say that the best church decisions are the ones about real values, real goals, and real differences. And these are not always compromisable.
If you are in a church business meeting and a vote comes out unanimous, the common interpretation is "Praise the Lord-we all agree." But are there alternate interpretations?
Certainly. Most of us know how to draft resolutions in such a way as to hide potential disputes. If we said, "Resolved, that we begin construction on a new building at Fifth and Main," there might be a huge debate. So instead we say, "Resolved, that a committee be formed to study the projected space requirements of our ministry." Of course, we intend to pack the study committee from the start.
Or we put the hot items last on the agenda, when everyone's tired and has already expended their energy fighting over the drinking fountain. Some members may have already gone home.
My question is: Does unanimity reflect a substantive unity, or is it merely artificial due to the masking of issues?
Another scenario: You're in a business meeting, and a vote comes out 77 percent in favor, 23 percent opposed. A common interpretation would be, "Oh, well, you can't please all the people all the time. Jesus Christ himself couldn't make those diehards happy."
I think it depends on who the 23 percent are. They could be, as you suggest, a group of angry, bitter people. But they could also be a group of frightened people, unwilling to venture into a new ministry, perhaps afraid the church will lose its beloved building, or something else. Maybe they reflect a serious, fundamental problem in the church that should serve as a caution light. You don't know until you talk to them, hear them out, find out the context from which their objection springs, understand their view of the issues.
I worked recently with a church where the pastor was under considerable pressure from the lay leaders to resign. He wanted to go to the membership for a vote of confidence. The constitution required a two-thirds vote to kick him out. I talked with him ahead of time and said, "Please don't take a vote on this issue-what will it prove? If you get 40 percent of the vote, leaving 60 percent of the people opposed to you-is that a win? What if you even get 60 percent? Can you continue to lead the church if 40 percent of the people have the nerve to vote against you? Rather, let's finish the process of hearing one another and dealing with the issues that are bothering people."
What happened? Did the church take your counsel?
No. The conflict had gone on for a long time and had turned into a power struggle. The pastor knew he could "win" a vote, so he called for it. He got 55 percent.
A large portion of the lay leadership left the church as a result. I'm afraid the effectiveness of that congregation has been destroyed for a generation or more. And, given its location in a changing urban neighborhood, that may be enough to kill the church altogether. The tragedy is that there was no fundamental question here, no theology at stake.
What should they have done instead of vote?
The better way would have been to follow a process that leads to reconciliation. A process acknowledges the conflict and provides the means to clarify the various concerns, values, and ideals of the parties. The various formalities give people time and space to understand each other better.
That's what law does, by the way. We don't resolve our problems cowboy-style by shooting it out at high noon. The face-off still happens downtown at noon, but each party has a lawyer who goes before a referee, and at least everybody gets to shoot.
In the church, we haven't thought enough about the value of formalized process as a way to diffuse heat but also channel our energies. The point is not to stop people from having strong feelings ("Shame on you-why don't you love the brethren?") but rather to channel those feelings appropriately. That's why a number of us have written books on this subject, to show how to move from "Bill's always been a cheat" to "Bill took $50 this week" to Bill saying, "Well, let me explain what happened."
Maybe at the end of the process, if the issue really is about mission, you do take a vote. But maybe you won't need to; maybe the people will have ventilated and then sought for middle roads so that a solution has become clear to all. You don't know until you try.
You've told us one of your failures in reconciling a church. How about a success story?
We dealt with a church that had some internal splits and, simultaneously, a conflict with the denomination. They were debating whether to pull out of the larger body, and if so, who would get the property. So there were elements of finance but also theology; everyone was running around saying who the true church was, and it was quite a mess.
Our first step was to say, "You know, it really is important to talk about your theological commitments-but it's not essential that you be in total agreement. Settling the current dispute does not require that you come up with a consensus statement on theology." That was a new thought to most of them. It was quite all right to have differing commitments; what mattered most was hearing each other carefully, grasping why each side valued what it did and how it felt the other side had lost an important emphasis.
We didn't get everyone to agree on who was right and who was wrong. We focused rather on how to move ahead in ways that would be least destructive to the community of believers. As it turned out, they actually didn't agree. There was no burst of enlightenment that said, "Hey, we actually do agree-I just didn't realize it." The congregation did divide-but amicably and with a sense of respect for each other. They worked out a process for talking about money, property, denominational loyalty, and the other issues.
We managed to break the problem up into pieces and then look for solutions rather than consensus. In that type of conflict, consensus was impossible. But the two streams of conviction found ways to not only survive but prosper.
The Christian Conciliation Service has been involved in a number of Presbyterian cases like this, and in every case where the presbytery and the local church have agreed to let us help, we have been successful in working out a solution.
You mentioned not reconciling theological differences. Were these major issues of theology or just gnats and flies?
Well, I'm not sure if there's a saying about one man's gnat being another man's elephant (laughter) . . . but that's the problem: to the dissenter, a critical item of faith, the touchstone of the whole issue, is perceived by the other side to be secondary and even "divisive." Majorities always label aggressive minorities "divisive." It's meant to be an insult.
In the church I mentioned, it was clear that theology-as loaded by their histories-was an unsolvable problem. So we moved on to what could be solved.
Is this kind of element unique to church conflicts, or does ideology play a similar role in other disputes you work with?
Not nearly as often. That's why church fights are usually the toughest to reconcile. You might think that personal spats are the worst-not true. It's fairly easy to deal with two businessmen who say one or the other hasn't kept his word or has done shoddy work. It is far harder to deal with people who speak not merely for themselves but for God! "This isn't a personal thing, you understand-I'm concerned about what Abner and Sophie Johnson had in mind when they poured out their life savings to build this church" or "I'm concerned for the future of evangelicalism" or whatever. (Abner and Sophie may have had in mind a whites-only church, too, but that doesn't mean we ought to respect their wishes.) The ideological load makes it much more difficult for people to yield. Compromise becomes a dirty word.
If someone were to flatly say, "Look, I've wanted to be chairman of the board for five years, and you're shafting me"-well, that's fairly easy. The guy is angry, and you know why, and so you can deal with it. But too often in the church, everything is larded with ideological talk-"The Lord has led me to . . ." The most minor kinds of human decisions get baptized. If you sit in a business meeting and pray for the Lord to guide a vote, what conclusion can you draw but that the result of the vote is God's decision, even if it's about the width of parking places.
But you still believe theology is important?
Absolutely. Look at the Christological conflicts in the early church. The lines had to be drawn. That's why sometimes churches do need to split. They have two different commitments, and they can't go in the same direction. They're like a Rotary club that has traditionally worked with the blind . . . but now 40 percent of the members are saying, "We'd rather help kids with cerebral palsy." Why try to talk them into staying together? Let them go their separate ways and each fulfill an exciting mission.
Of course there are nicer ways to split than many churches do, but the need can be legitimate.
Sometimes the conflict is not really about theology but gets layered with it. For example: "Shall we stay here in the city or buy property in the suburbs?" That involves philosophy of ministry, but it involves a lot of other things. It involves letting Mrs. Jones say that she's worshiped in this place for fifty-three years in the pew paid for by her mother. Well, that's a legitimate feeling and needs to be expressed.
But other times, ideology has nothing to do with the conflict; it is merely a smoke screen.
Yesterday was the finale of a particularly heated campaign for mayor of Chicago. Is church politicking as intense as secular politicking?
Worse! At least that's what employees of Christian organizations tell me. The reason is that nobody acknowledges its presence.
We had a debate in our church recently about whether to spend a considerable sum on a new organ. Since there weren't very many mechanisms for dealing openly with feelings and opinions, we suddenly had coalitions building all over the place. Wouldn't the money be better spent in the inner city? But what was wrong with using our hard-earned prosperity to the glory of God? Behind the scenes, the politicking was vigorous. We ended up buying the organ, but the process could have used a lot more airing.
A second factor is that church people can't seem to talk self-interest language. We don't say, "I'm hurt." We say, "I don't think it's the Lord's will that . . ." or "God wouldn't be able to bless us if we . . ." In the business world, if people are hassling about who's going to get the corner office with the windows, nobody hides it. In the church, we don't dare be so straightforward.
It's not that we make a conscious decision to beat around the bush. We have just grown up assuming we should rephrase personal feelings in religious language. In politics, it's tough to lose, but you make your concession speech, lie low for a few days, and then go on with life. In the church, you have to keep looking spiritual no matter what. Thus, a loss is not just a tactical defeat; it's an assault.
What are the most damaging kinds of strife in a church?
The quiet ones. The submerged, diffused, unacknowledged conflicts that smolder for years and years. If the institution is not willing to grab hold, debate, decide, reconcile, split, or whatever needs to be done, the issue becomes a cancer within. It eats at the body's vitality, consuming its energy, spreading until the case is terminal.
Give me a genuine theological donnybrook any day. At least you know what you've got and can set up a process to deal with it.
How do you draw out the silent, sinister things?
This is where pastoral leadership can model the idea that conflict is OK. I have a pastor friend who says it is really important for him to tell his board when he's angry about something. He fusses and argues with them, and yet he is loved. A few people can't handle his style and label him unspiritual, but by and large, the business types on the board understand his kind of language.
Even in the pulpit, pastors can acknowledge differences, treat them with a light touch, and let people know that even though we feel strongly about these things, they're not the end of the world.
One of the most delightful churches I ever pastored had fascinating conflict. We were an old "First Church" congregation that included the mayor, lumber company executives, and so forth-an easygoing group quite happy with a kind of restrained religion. Then the city of Seattle began to expand until we became a suburb, and all kinds of new people joined us. Many of them had a more vital faith; they were part of the lay witness movement, and when they'd stand up in services and share what the Lord meant to them, the old guard would squirm, because they didn't have similar stories to tell.
Then one Pentecost Sunday we dug a ditch out in front and immersed people-a Methodist church! What had happened to our nice, sedate traditions?
And yet, this was one of the most lively, fun, diverse communities I've ever known. The other pastor and I had a commitment to view conflict as potentially good. We vowed not to get trapped with one side or another, but to keep the ferment going and not let people become overserious about it. We'd smile and say, "Yeah, George, some of those folks really are crazy as loons, aren't they . . . I couldn't believe what he did the other Sunday . . . but everybody's different." We led the congregation in not only being tolerant but placing value upon diversity within the body.
How does a pastor acquire the skills to manage conflict?
Before getting to the how, a pastor has to acknowledge a prior premise-that ministry, in fact, includes managing. It's not all preaching; some of it is dealing with institutional reality, helping the institution make its decisions and develop its structures.
If one doesn't see this as legitimate ministry, if one crabs about not having time "to be what I'm supposed to be because I'm so busy managing," about being "stuck in the office," then managing conflict is off to a difficult start.
But once you see that this is part of equipping and enabling the saints, then you are ready to get into some of the how-to literature. Westminster has three different books on the subject: Stress Management for Ministers by Charles Rassieur, The Contentious Community: Constructive Conflict in the Church by John M. Miller, and Church Fights by Paul Kittlaus and Speed Leas. There's also Resolving Church Conflicts: A Case Study Approach for Local Congregations by Douglass Lewis (Harper & Row) as well as my book, Tell It to the Church (David C. Cook).
Books such as these teach how not to get co-opted, which is hard for a pastor. So many people come to him wanting to make sure he "really understands" (which means knowing why they're right).
The books also help with defining issues, handling confidences, managing rumor, and a host of other skills that don't require a graduate degree in conflict management but can be stored in the brain for the time when they're needed.
What do you think about the use of prayer in resolving conflict?
I'm against it! (Laughter) Seriously, it's almost a rule: The first person in a dispute to pray or to suggest prayer will be the most troublesome. I'll give you an illustration.
We were trying to mediate a problem between two families in a church. The pastor had worked with them, but the conflict was now spilling over into the rest of the congregation. The first lady who called me to get involved was full of religious language about trying to find the Lord's will, and when I arrived at the first meeting of the parties, immediately she wanted to pray-even before the other folks showed up. That was a clue.
I said, "No, I really think we really ought to wait until everyone's here."
"Well, I think we're going to have some problems with them," she replied. "We need to pray for them."
"Well, we'll wait for them," I said.
Her husband then turned and said, "You know, you can pray on your own." So very ostentatiously, almost like a little kid, she folded her hands and closed her eyes . . . while the rest of us sat around the same table talking about football.
When the hearing was all over, she turned out to be one of only two people in the entire history of Christian Conciliation Service who, although having helped pick the arbitrators, refused to abide by their decision. We went through the whole process and gave our best judgment-but the Lord allegedly showed her a verse somewhere in the Old Testament that indicated she ought not to go along.
Obviously, I'm not against prayer. The whole idea of Christian conciliation is that God will help us deal with conflict. But I must distinguish between genuine prayer and using religious ritual as a weapon. So often prayer is used to say, "I don't think you're understanding what I'm saying, and surely it must be because the Lord isn't making it clear to you. So let's stop and call upon him, so you can understand how right I am."
The trouble with using prayer in the middle of a board meeting is that it is often suggested just as the discussion is getting honest. People are finally saying what they've been thinking all night ("You know, you really did lie to me, Jack"), and some nervous soul sees the Spirit slipping away and quickly wants to have a word of prayer. What people really mean is "I'm uncomfortable with how heavy this discussion is getting, and I want to retreat, so everybody bow your head." And it's very hard at that point to say, "No, let's not." The key moment is lost as the one side co-opts Jesus.
What we need to do in conflict is talk to each other. God is quite capable of listening to our debate; we don't need to pause and say, "God, are you here?" He is also quite capable of informing our hearing and speaking.
What are the signs that a conflict needs outside mediation?
When the resources of the body itself are pretty much exhausted or disqualified. If everybody has chosen sides, who is left to be a peacemaker? If the pastor, for example, has been pulled off to one trench or the other, or is unwilling or unable to mediate, then outside help is called for.
Another time is when it becomes urgent to have a symbol of hope, a new lease on the possibility of making peace. Groups come to us saying, "We've been struggling with this for three years and cannot resolve it-can you help us?" Our simple presence brings a new burst of energy to try again.
How helpful are denominational officials in mediating local-church clashes?
It depends on whether the issue at stake relates to the role of hierarchy or not. Obviously, if your church is thinking of leaving the denomination, the bishop will hardly be neutral on that question. If the debate is whether to keep using the denomination's Sunday school curriculum, the district superintendent is not the reconciler you need.
Such officials also have trouble in cases involving the pastor, since they are expected to be loyal to the pastor and, in some structures, have actually appointed the pastor to office.
But in other kinds of disputes, denominational executives can be very helpful if they have the necessary skills. They can absorb some of the hostility when people need somebody to get mad at; after all, they can leave town the next morning. At times their familiarity with the church's history ("Ah, yes, I've known the Crenshaw family for thirty years") can be very useful.
But at other times it's better not to have known the Crenshaws. That's where a group like ours has an advantage: we don't know all the troublemakers ahead of time. We can give people a chance to be right for once.
If you're part of a denomination that you feel is adrift, how vigorously should you object? What is pleasing to God in such situations?
I admit I come to that question with a personal load, since I'm a somewhat conservative person ordained in a denomination that is less conservative. At times it is frustrating: one doesn't want to be a naysayer all the time; you'd really like to be able to get behind your group and forge ahead.
But on the other hand, I'm not comfortable with the practice of always checking to make sure everything is pristine pure among the elect. I find myself disturbed by the tactics of some local churches in these battles. After all, what good is it to maintain your purity if you lose your witness? When a church and its denomination wind up in court fighting over property-albeit with spiritual language about "our stewardship responsibility" and "the witness in the community"-I am saddened.
The trouble is, many people in a congregation aren't sensitized to these questions, so they get recruited by fairly inflammatory language. You don't convince somebody that the church ought to take the drastic step of withdrawal by mumbling something about "We have some serious concerns about the direction the national body is taking." You have to sell them: "The national body has abandoned the faith-there are hardly any Christians left at headquarters-they're going to bust hell wide open-we must take a stand for righteousness!"
And so the hierarchy gets equally defensive. They decide they've got to teach those dissenters a lesson, and if they leave, they're not gonna take a dime with them. … Meanwhile, all willingness to negotiate is lost.
I grew up in the Evangelical United Brethren Church in the Northwest, a very conservative group. The Methodists in Washington and Oregon were quite liberal, and when the merger vote came along in 1968, these people had almost nothing in common. Both conferences voted almost unanimously not to merge, but the national tally went the other way, of course.
Many EUBs simply could not tolerate that, so the question became how to leave peacefully. A very responsible settlement was worked out, based on whether the new United Methodist denomination had a loyalist group in a given town or not. If not, there was no sense arguing over a building. They negotiated selling prices in a reasonable manner, depending on how much of the church's past support had come from national sources and how much locally. It was a lot better than screaming and hollering.
A major concern of mine is that people who withdraw from denominations because of their commitment to Scripture sometimes don't act any more scripturally than their opponents. They cavalierly ignore biblical teachings about releasing, forgiving, not suing, and reconciling. I long to hear them say, "We believe we're right and our principles are sound, but we're committing ourselves not to do legal battle, because we have a larger kind of mission in the world." There's something disarming about that; the other side is often embarrassed into integrity.
I'm conservative enough to believe that the differences between various Christian bodies in North America are more than cosmetic. I do admit that some national denominations have largely abandoned their original centralities. Issues of biblical faithfulness are at stake, and it is appropriate to do battle on those real issues. But even warfare has rules.
So what is a fair tactic? Should churches petition? Form ad hoc committees? Publish leaflets?
That's all fine, so long as it's honest. In fact, that's the kind of politicking that is healthy. You write about what you believe; you send delegates to the national conventions, and they engage in lobbying, if you will-"Do you know what's going on with the board of missions? That's why we want to see so-and-so elected this time. We think the missions program will have more integrity this way."
That is a lot healthier than not participating and then just complaining.
Now, of course, at some point you may realize that your work in the political arena is no longer meaningful. There's no point getting 10 votes out of 360 year after year. If you're not being constructive and your cause is not advancing, then you have to make some other decision-whether to withdraw or take another approach.
What about withholding funds as a way of making your point?
If you have a legal responsibility to contribute to the national body, then you must do so. I have seen some extremely questionable maneuvers-secret bank accounts in order to keep the denomination in the dark if and when a split should occur-that raise grave ethical questions.
But if you have no legal obligation, that's another matter. It may, however, be smart politics to continue to contribute so you can then have a voice. You can say, "Look, we're contributors to this mission program, and while you're sending some of the funds to the revolutionary front in Mozambique or wherever, we also want to see an emphasis on church planting."
One of the things that irritates denominational officials, understandably, is that dissenters don't give. "They crab and complain, but they're not in with the rest of us supporting," they say. People in politics know that if you want to be around tomorrow, you have to pay your dues today. That's why Harold Washington could raise campaign money, even though he was hardly the choice of anyone in the traditional Democratic machine in Chicago. People got on board because they were realistic enough to know this wasn't the last vote in town.
The same thing applies to denominations. You keep giving, and you say, "Look, I don't like what you did with the money last week, but you're still my family, and I really hope you'll listen to me next time."
Once you decide you're no longer in the family, however, it's time to start looking for a family you can feel enthusiastic about.
How much should Christians worry about the ultimate use of their donations?
I notice Jesus seemed to encourage giving to the Temple and praised those who gave, even though he held serious doubts about whether the Temple administration was using the funds properly. People who get too fired up about "making sure my money is used right" are in a sense retaining control of their gifts. It's still their money. Giving is rather an act of turning funds over to the Lord, releasing control.
On the other hand, if some cult comes to the door, you don't say, "Fine-I need to give. Here's a thousand dollars."
Pastors often struggle with the financial implications of conflict. After all, if you offend the moneyed interests in a congregation, you can be in quick trouble.
That's right; it's a subtle pressure to maintain a false peace. A conflict can really dry up revenue, especially if there are substantial givers on both sides. My hope is that pastors can identify conflict early enough and deal with it so it doesn't turn into ultimate warfare that hurts the offerings.
If, however, the leadership delays taking action until funds start to be withheld, then a terrible message is assumed: "I got my way by using my checkbook." Once you begin making fundamental decisions on the basis of financial threats, you've got real problems.
But taking the initiative to deal with conflict can be frightening.
Absolutely. The truth is, you will get shot down sometimes, even if you're good at reconciling. John Adams, the Methodist minister who helped negotiate the crisis at Wounded Knee, said, "You can either make peace or get credit for making peace-but not both." It's awfully nice to win the Nobel Peace Prize. But peacemaking skills are by their very character quiet. You are entrusted with information and relationships that can be easily abused. And the instant you go public, you destroy the peace.
If pastors are going to deal with conflict situations in their churches, they need to study their own natures and determine whether they tend to avoid conflict or not. I know I do; I'm not a good fighter, and that affects how I initially respond to conflict. I'd rather run from it, quit my job, look the other way. There are some self-tests now that give clues to one's personal style in this regard, and seminaries are starting to teach more in this area. They've always taught about counseling the conflicts of others (marital, parental, etc.), but now they're adding how to deal with institutional conflict.
Churches can have a substantial ministry in teaching their own people about conflict and reconciliation. That's why my wife and I produced the elective course for David C. Cook. Parishioners must realize that the Bible is full of conflict. The disciples were repeatedly arguing and fussing, and yet Jesus loved them and made use of them. In fact, conflict may be one of the few loci for inserting theological convictions-reconciliation, forgiveness, confession, and many of the other great doctrines.
When we announced a series in our church on conflict between parents and teenagers, the response was amazing. Even people outside the church saw our little ad in the paper and showed up for the sessions. It was obvious that we had struck a felt need.
We must teach about this subject, and we must model our willingness to deal openly with the differences among us. Avoidance serves no purpose at all. It is true that at least one reconciler in the Bible got himself crucified, but we must not be afraid. We must be the agents of healing.
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