No two pulpit committees function alike. Some generate mounds of paperwork; others rely mainly on memory. Some view their work as essentially a talent search. Some spend long hours on their knees seeking divine direction. Some push through the process as quickly as possible (and sometimes regret it), while others leave no stone unturned.
The following chronicle includes almost all the elements of finding a new pastor. Some readers will question spending this much time (twenty-six months) on the process. LEADERSHIP’S point in publishing it is not to say, “This is the way to do it,” but rather to showcase the various factors and procedures, giving other churches a planning guide for when a vacancy occurs.
A song in the play Fiddler on the Roof starts out: “Matchmaker, Matchmaker, make me a match; find me a find, catch me a catch.”
More than two years ago, I stood with fourteen others and received a charge from our congregation to do just that. We were to discover the most qualified and eligible suitor, convince him he couldn’t possibly be happy without us, and then deliver him already in tuxedo to the congregation. Of course we were to proceed every step of the way with full assurance that God was smiling on our efforts.
Twenty-six months later I stood with tears streaming down my cheeks as our new pastor and his wife walked down the sanctuary aisle to the thunderous applause of a membership that had voted 311-0 to consummate the marriage.
Those were tears of joy. I am convinced God was not only pleased with the decision but had nudged us in that direction.
Those were also tears of relief. I had spent over six hundred hours in the process-the equivalent of seventy-five eight-hour work days. That includes reading dossiers, discussing them, listening to taped sermons every Tuesday night for three hours, calling references, traveling to hear pastors in their home churches, and interviewing candidates during extended meals. The weekends, however, were the killers. I made eight overnight trips to see people on their turf and was involved in an equal number of visits when they came to ours.
And they were tears of sadness. I will miss this group. During the life of the Pastoral Nominating Committee (PNC), fifteen disparate-and sometimes desperate-individuals became organically bonded to one another. We and our families experienced the evolution of life together, including birth, death, falling in love, loss of job, retirement, honors and promotions, home buying, alcoholism, attempted suicide, marriage, and finding faith.
We also learned much about how to search for a pastor. We learned even more how not to do it.
The Way We Were
One crucial factor was beyond our control. The size and makeup of the PNC was set by an ad hoc selection panel, later confirmed by the membership. We had to live with each other’s strengths and foibles for the duration. There were times when we were amazed at our collective wisdom; at other moments, we would have cheerfully strangled our appointers for their shortsightedness.
The group was loaded with experience. Some had served on previous search committees for associate pastors. All but one had been an elder or deacon. When candidates asked specific questions about our church, these present and past officers could give detailed and authoritative answers. Our ranks included a man who headed the current stewardship campaign, an elder who was immersed in presbytery governance, two folks who had seminary training and understood theological subtleties, a magazine editor who could compose turn-down letters that left the recipient feeling good, a private pilot who could fly us to other cities, the head of our session’s personnel committee who was responsible for seeing that the pulpit was filled in the interim.
In one sense the group was a microcosm of our church, a broad spectrum of theological and social positions. It wouldn’t have been hard to find two people who disagreed on everything but the divinity of Christ. That diversity made it tougher to agree on a pastor, but it also decreased the chances of a significant element of the church feeling grumpy when the candidate was finally presented.
In another sense, the group was different. Our commitment to the church was higher than you would expect from the average member. I don’t think any of us realized how long it would take-yet in over two years of frustrating search, no one quit. We laughed that the only way to get off the committee was feet first. The joke had the hollow ring of truth.
A PNC quest affects job performance, places a strain on family relationships, and cuts deeply into social time. At least it does if the job is done right. Yet I cannot think of anything I could do for the church that would have a greater impact in shaping its direction. So when asked, I swallowed hard and did an Isaiah: “Here I am, Lord, send me.”
Incidentally, toward the end of our labors one minister expressed surprise that we didn’t have any youth on the committee. We just smiled and said that we did when we began-but now they were grown, married, and had kids. Of course the real reason was that it would have been unfair to expect the time/energy/travel commitment from a high school student. It’s a thorny issue, but I think our decision was right.
We weren’t a cross section of the congregation in another way. The committee was hand-picked to put the church’s best foot forward. How do I write this without sounding like a snob? But it’s true-the PNC was chosen with an eye to physical attractiveness, social skills, and intelligence as well as spiritual commitment. This was in recognition of our dual role: not only were we selecting a pastor, but we had to sell the pastor on our church. We were the only people he or she would know before making a decision.
There were some real minuses in the way we were constituted. The chief one was size. There were too many of us-fifteen. The original ad hoc selection body feared that economic necessity, job transfer, or family needs might cause members to drop out. They wanted to guarantee enough people to keep the load manageable. I fear they increased it. We got even bigger when one person was nominated and elected from the floor.
So what’s an optimum size? I’d opt for twelve committed members for a large diverse congregation, nine or ten for a small homogeneous fellowship.
One other major problem with our composition-we were eleven men and four women. Surprisingly this doesn’t reflect chauvinistic bias in our church, since the selection committee was mostly women. But the end result put us at risk in at least three ways. A pastoral search team desperately needs some workers who are free during the day to meet candidates at the airport, take them to lunch, and give tours. This typically means retirees or nonemployed women. We were fortunate that two of our ladies were free to take on these chores, and they performed superbly, but if they’d been less personable, less competent, or less committed, we would have wallowed in good intentions but poor performance. Besides, it wasn’t fair to them.
A second problem created by the imbalance was the emotional tone of the group. This was a committee of racehorses. Put a dozen or so of these high-performance types together, and the sparks fly. We needed the gentle hand of some who were relationally sensitive in order to keep things cool and give perspective. At the risk of stereotyping, I will say that women in our culture are more likely to display and evoke the human warmth necessary to keep a group cohesive. We could have used a few more.
Finally, the sexual imbalance sent a message to prospective pastors. The overload of men was a stumbling block to some candidates.
Will the Real Leader Please Stand Up?
You might imagine the difficulty for one person to ride herd over such a group of fast-track thoroughbreds. Actually it proved impossible. Yet over the first year, a leadership team evolved that served us well.
We started out traditionally, electing a chairman. Don seemed a natural, possessing a vibrant faith, affable personality, and up-front ability before the congregation. The other four or five likely candidates pleaded lack of time or special circumstances, so Don was selected unanimously. As an apparent afterthought, Bill and Barb were elected as vice-chairpersons. In retrospect, I see God’s hand in that decision.
It soon became apparent that Don was unable to lead the group. Business reverses and family tragedy sapped him of time and energy. An understandable aversion to conflict rendered him incapable of making tough decisions. I’m not sure what would have happened if he had been the solitary leader. Our two vice-chairs took the reins without embarrassment or public announcement. We ended up with a leadership troika-three leaders pulling in the same direction.
As we entered our second year, Barb clearly became first among equals. Why? She was willing to grasp the power, even eager. (I have yet to see an honest-to-goodness leadership draft. Barb’s rise to the top was no exception.)
She was also willing to hold others accountable. Barb understood that people vote with their presence, and the mission disintegrates if absenteeism goes unchecked. One certain way of arousing her wrath was to not show up without clearing it ahead of time. She was capable of leveling you with a stare that made you realize it was your turn to go on a trip, call a reference, or host a dinner. Members would refer to her as “The Sergeant Major” or “Mother Superior.” I thought of her as a velvet-covered brick.
Yet another factor was even more important: she had an unswerving commitment to the unity of the PNC. More than once Barb exhorted the group to love and care for one another. She backed this up publicly by insisting that not only should everybody have a say, but others should listen and respect the opinion. This was one reason why our meetings went so long, but it’s also a reason why we finally reached unanimity.
The listening ear extended past the meetings. I was on the phone to Barb two or three times a week. PNC business and private life merged in those conversations. (My wife decided two years was long enough when I once called home and absentmindedly said, “Hi, Barb.”) Her willingness to get involved in the lives of individuals was a catalyst in drawing the group together. It also gave her the behind-the-scenes intelligence necessary to tiptoe the committee through emotional minefields of hidden agendas.
All three leaders recognized the importance of forging warm emotional bonds within the committee. They scheduled parties with spouses to bring us together in nontask situations. Times of prayer were interspersed with moments of laughter.
The lesson here for other groups: Don’t get locked into a leadership structure too early. Select a leader for the first few months to get you through the organizational phase. By then everyone will have a good idea of each other’s capabilities and personality quirks, and the true leader will naturally emerge. Or select dual leadership. One person can shepherd the group in its task while the other can focus on the emotional needs of members.
Narrowing the Field
We started slowly. The Presbyterian Church places a premium on order. It’s sometimes a strength, sometimes a weakness, always maddening. Before we could interview candidates or even peek at their credentials, we had to prepare our own Church Information Form. The CIF is an exhaustive document that gives the prospective pastor a handle on who we are.
The statistical data was quickly researched-size of membership, annual budget, average Sunday worship attendance, number of churches in the community, nearest hospital, etc. The goals and long-range plans took more thought. Did we want to grow? What form of ministry to the community had priority? The page that gave us most pause was the one that asked us to rank twenty-two emphases in ministry. Preaching, hospital visitation, community service, counseling, evangelism, laity training, Christian education-they all sounded good, yet we had to choose. It forced us to concentrate on the characteristics we felt a person had to have in order to be eligible.
Pastors were impressed with our CIF. An 1,800 member church with a $500,000 budget, a going youth program, large well-trained choirs, founding church of a Christian counseling center-it was almost too good to be true. It hurt us in the long run. Successful pastors in large churches read this glowing report and saw no challenge. Some in less ambitious situations were intimidated. Only later did we share the soft underbelly of the operation. Although we were loaded with lay people of unquestionable talent, on the whole we were biblically illiterate. We had fine programs but little sharing of faith between members. Our weaknesses attracted the desired kind of leader as much, if not more, than our strengths.
A friend who’s a corporate headhunter tells me that matching an executive with a firm is a question of what you can get with what you have to offer. The good match is one that clicks between equally attractive parties. We spent the first year aiming too high, looking for the forty- to fifty-year-old superstar with a proven track record at a large church. I firmly believe God can call someone to step down the status ladder, but we saw nothing to indicate that would happen in our case. So in the second year, we concentrated on younger pastors who were looking to make the jump from a smaller successful situation. It was fun to talk with people who wanted us rather than trying to kindle a lukewarm interest. But I’m getting ahead of the story.
After the CIF was submitted to church headquarters, we received a flock of dossiers. Some of these we requested because they had been recommended by members or outside friends. Others came from pastors who knew of the vacancy and submitted their own names. A final group was generated by a computer that compared our desires with a minister’s stated strengths. (Based on the quality of this material, I’d never recommend a computer dating service.)
We had signed the required pledge that we would consider candidates of either gender. But in the end, only one woman’s name came our way, and by the time we made contact, she had taken a church in California.
The dossiers were long, running from six to ten pages. In an effort to save time and money, we made only four copies of each and farmed them out to a subgroup. If those folks liked what they read, the papers were sent on to another subgroup, and so on until they’d made the rounds. It was false economy. Over a three-month period, forty resumes entered the pipeline, but nothing ever came out. On the advice of a wise pastoral adviser from another congregation, we bit the bullet and duplicated fifteen copies of each vita. Everyone was assigned to read the same dossiers for a given week, and the system began to flow.
We devised a plan for giving zero to three points to each of the top six areas we had selected. This was fine in theory, but I found myself short-circuiting the system. To me, preaching was more important than administration. If I liked what I read about sermon preparation, I’d rate the person high in everything to hype the score. If I didn’t approve of the theology, I’d mark him low, even though there was no doctrinal category to check. Others fudged in the direction of their interest, so we finally scrapped the system and went to a zero-to-eighteen scale based on whatever the rater desired. Form should follow substance.
Each meeting we’d list all the candidates and plot members’ scores on a grid for all to see. Then we’d talk about the candidates one at a time. It was a tedious practice, but well worth it. Not only did we get a better handle on the candidates, but we learned even more about our own tastes and attitudes. This was an essential part of the jelling process.
An average score of twelve or more was usually enough to cause us to pursue someone further. But if anyone had a “tingle”-a strong emotional response at the base of the spine-we’d pursue no matter how low the score. It was part of the respect we had for each other’s views.
It’s tough to say what earned high marks. After reading over two hundred dossiers, I’m still not able to spot a magic formula. A plain-language summary of educational training, previous pastorates, present accomplishments, plus strengths and places for growth worked best. We were irritated whenever someone tried to get too cute. We also got suspicious when a resume ducked questions on theology, never mentioned family relationships, or showed a history of job hopping. We didn’t want a shepherd who would soon itch for a new flock.
Within the Presbyterian Church, dossiers include the salary range a person expects. In some cases, that lets you know immediately if a candidate is out of the ballpark. In the case of the pastor we eventually called, his stated salary needs were much less than we had been paying his predecessor. So salary was not a major consideration in his decision to come.
All of this validates the traditional wisdom that a resume will never get you hired but is often a reason to turn you down. Some of our best candidates barely cleared the dossier hurdle. The one we called received a score of seven from the PNC member who later became his biggest booster. The moral of this story: Don’t put too much weight on the dossier. If you’ve got a good reason to believe a person is a prime prospect, go and meet him.
We learned the hard way on this last piece of advice, because we persisted in one-way communication. If we liked what we read, we sent for a taped sermon. This was the most discouraging part of our search. Our previous pastor had an imposing presence in the pulpit. Our first-year pulpit supply was even better, using rich imagery to make Scripture come alive. Most of the stuff we heard on tape was pallid by comparison.
I admit it’s not fair to judge a sermon without getting the visual impact. But to a committee planning on using tapes I’d recommend the following: Request copies of sermons given on specific dates. That increases the chance of a representative sample rather than having a person select one sure-fire spellbinder. Insist that they be recorded live. We groaned every time we heard a message recorded in a study.
If you hear solid content but are put off by the mood and manner of delivery, have someone see the speaker in person before you write him off. If you respond to both the words and the style on tape-run don’t walk to see him in his own church. He’s an endangered species.
The advantages of seeing a pastor on home turf are:
1. You see the whole person, not a truncated version. He’s interacting with real people. The way he greets folks as they leave is as telling as what he does during the service.
2. You can get an idea of the type of people he attracts. One of the winsome factors about our candidate was the warmth of his congregation. We hit another church that seemed more loyal to the American flag than the cause of Christ. We wouldn’t have spotted that without traveling.
3. It shows the pastor you are seriously interested. If he’s a reluctant candidate, it provides a watershed where he has to decide if he’s serious about relocating or just playing games because the interest is flattering.
4. The travel is a catalyst in drawing PNC members together. We were often at each other’s throats until we sat together on a Sunday morning in Milwaukee eating bratwurst or got lost trying to find a church in Cleveland.
The toughest part about visiting another church is the inner knowledge that you may soon want to steal their pastor. That induces guilt when the woman next to you in the pew welcomes you warmly as a visitor and even raves about their minister. More than once I felt like a spy whose cover was about to be blown.
Although we began to get a good composite image of a candidate from the dossier, tapes, and visits to the church, we found it wise not to trust our own judgment solely. We worked hard to contact people who’d seen the person in action. As might be expected, stated references were always laudatory. If a man can’t find five people to put in a good word for him, he’s in big trouble. But we wanted candid appraisals of strengths and weaknesses, the nuances of personality that don’t come through with a simple “He’s great.”
Here are some of the lessons we learned: Check references after you already have a decent handle on the person. You’ll be able to ask intelligent questions and zero in on particular problem areas.
If you’re just going through the motions, write a letter. If you really care, pick up the phone. Someone who’s sold on the person will be willing to take twenty minutes to be specific. If you catch him or her at a bad time, set up a specific hour to call back.
Take copious notes. You think you’ll be able to remember details, but unless you have a verbatim account of key phrases, all you’ll retain is a general impression to share with the committee.
Give the references an opportunity to rave about their colleague, but also give them permission to be critical. The more you tell about your church, the more specific they’ll be. I happened upon a closing question that often provided a wealth of insight: “Thanks so much for your time. You’ve answered every question I had concerning John. But I’m afraid I may not have known what to ask. What question should I have raised that would help us understand the essence of who John is if I’d only known more?” Then I’d just shut up and wait for a reply. Sometimes there was an awkward silence for up to thirty seconds, but the response usually made the wait worthwhile. It also turned out to be a good question to ask the candidate himself at the end of an extensive interview.
Getting Serious
An invitation to meet with the entire committee wasn’t given lightly. It usually meant gearing up for a two-day visit involving food, lodging, preaching in a neutral pulpit, a tour of the community, and six hours or so of discussion. We did it ten times.
I had heard it was unwise to ask a prime candidate for our first such weekend. Good advice. In fact, we botched the first few. We’d pick up the man, whisk him to the church, and start asking about his theology. Dumb. It had all the grace of a bulldozer. One candidate scolded us for setting up an inquisition. He wanted some positive strokes for his track record in the ministry. While we rationalized his comments as springing from a bruised ego, I think his criticism was valid. We did learn from our mistakes.
A typical visit involved both the man and his wife. We found it essential to view the interplay between the two. Our church has low expectations for the woman’s involvement in congregational life. (The last two pastors’ wives had careers of their own.) But we wanted to call a senior pastor who would be able to walk away from the pressures of ministry into a warm home, a safe haven.
The obvious tension between one pair raised all sorts of warning signals. Conversely, the spontaneity between the man we called and his wife confirmed our view that we had an effective people person.
We’d pick them up at the airport on Friday and get them established in a nice motel. There are pros and cons to the motel versus home issue. A home conveys warmth, but it also means having to be “on stage” the whole time. We opted for privacy. They discovered flowers and a basket full of items tailor-made for their interests. If he was a jogger, there was a map of all the jogging trails in the county. A classical music buff received a brochure of upcoming concerts. Women from rural areas appreciated news on shopping centers. Of course we included the usual Chamber of Commerce maps and blurbs on the community. Some couples liked to take these and scout on their own, so we put a car at their disposal. A guided tour of the church followed by a dinner with the whole committee in a member’s home rounded out Friday. We were careful to rotate seating at meals so everyone had personal exposure to the couple over the weekend.
Saturday was a day of discussion at the church. Various committee members would lead off on certain topics. We tried to block out time frames for theology, mission, worship, preaching, Christian education, stewardship, and evangelism. But we also gave the candidate equal opportunity to ask us questions.
The mood and manner were as informative as the content. One man talked himself out of a job by giving fifteen-minute answers to fifteen-second questions. Multiple coffee breaks and lunch gave everyone a chance to shift mood as well as body position. Sometimes wives were in on these discussions-sometimes not. Their choice.
Saturday night was a time for the couple to relax by themselves. We figured there was a lot of pillow talk about us.
On Sunday we would go to another church in our area where we had arranged for our visitor to preach. This reflected our concern for confidentiality. He wasn’t speaking at a church that was “looking for a pastor,” so his crowd wasn’t suspicious. If our congregation were to hear that we were considering a certain person, the inevitable pro-and-con polarization would weaken his chances. We learned from the dictum that treaties are best arrived at in secret and then openly announced. Even our spouses were not privy to the names involved.
Some thought we went overboard on secrecy. They accused us of being paranoid about information leaks. But as the saying goes, “You aren’t paranoid if they’re really after you.” And many members and staff were really after us-to glean inside information or to influence the outcome.
One of the rumors going the rounds claimed we were too picky. Our final test for a prospective pastor-so the joke ran-was to take him to the nearby lake and see if he could walk across. Fears like this could have been quelled by periodic announcements as to the number of candidates we were actively pursuing. But I firmly believe a tight-lipped policy about the actual person involved is the only way to go.
Following the service, we would meet for a final time. If he had no further questions and if we hadn’t done so earlier at his request, we’d go around and share our individual visions for the church. It was at these times I felt particularly proud of our congregation. Our excitement and commitment to each other came through clearly.
Although I’ve outlined the typical visit, things were a bit different in the case of the couple we called. We sent a delegation of four people to visit their church. They met with the pastor and his wife for a three-hour discussion over a meal. He had just lost his associate and was unable to get away for a weekend, so we arranged for a midweek visit, knowing we’d be unable to hear him preach. Most of us were comfortable with that, since his tapes had been so fine and the four-person team had raved about his sermon.
However, he volunteered to conduct a worship service just for the committee. It had everything going against it. We met in a cold chapel at dusk on a bleak day-fifteen people sitting in a sanctuary that could hold a few hundred, and without any of the usual trappings of worship. But his prayer, reading of Scripture, and message made the sanctuary come alive with light and warmth. It was one of those magic moments.
Popping the Question
We had adopted ground rules for the final decision making early, before any personalities were known. As it turned out, we needed the protection. We had some stormy sessions. On more than one occasion, individuals walked out of a meeting. Shouts of accusation and protest were not unknown. The same candidate could generate praise and scorn from different members. But our standard was simply this: No one would receive a call who had four or more no votes, even if the other eleven thought he was the greatest pastor since the apostle Paul.
Since abstentions were allowed, it was theoretically possible that a bland personality who didn’t arouse anyone’s ire might slide through even though no one was strongly for him. To counter this possibility, we stipulated that a candidate had to receive eleven positive votes. Although we held only two formal votes to call, the bylaw colored all of our deliberations. Each member had to deal with the question “If it comes to a vote, which way will I go?”
There was an added complication at the end. After two years of diligent work, we were confronted by an embarrassment of riches. We had three excellent prospects, each with their champions on the PNC. In other pulpit committees this has led to each member staunchly defending his own choice and knocking the others. The result is a fractured committee and loss of all candidates. To counter this, we set up an elaborate preliminary polling procedure. It may seem cumbersome, but it served us well.
On the fateful night we took an initial straw vote in which each member had fifteen points to spread among the three. We couldn’t give more than eight or less than two votes to any candidate. A typical distribution might run:
Pastor A 8
Pastor B 5
Pastor C 2
15
The results were tabulated, and we began discussing the candidate with the least votes. Every member had up to five minutes to comment on that candidate. This was followed by similar rounds for the middle vote getter and finally for the top choice. We then took a second straw poll using the same fifteen-point forced-choice system.
Finally after a time of prayer, we took a call vote on the person receiving the highest total.
The genius of our system was that the leading candidate emerged before the official vote. Through the discussion and straw poll every member could see which way the wind was blowing. And we’re fully convinced that part of it was the breath of the Holy Spirit. Much to everyone’s surprise, one man’s total was almost as high as the other two combined. He increased that lead on the second straw poll following discussion. When the official vote was taken, there wasn’t a negative vote. After twenty-six months, we sat in awed silence. We had unanimous agreement on a match.
Would he agree? Even though it was past midnight, we phoned long distance to extend our call. At most we expected him to say, “Fine, let’s get together and talk about the financial specifics,” but without hesitation he said simply, “I accept.” God had been working on him as well. How glorious it was to have someone we wanted want us.
Would the congregation agree? We still had work to do. We hammered out a financial package including housing expenses, study leave, and moving costs. We prepared a brochure introducing the entire family to the church. We scheduled a Saturday coffee for members to meet our couple, and on the following day he preached to a packed church. At three o’clock that afternoon, all fifteen of us stood before the congregation and made our report. This was no formality. One after another, each of us gave his or her reasons for recommending a yes vote.
Three hundred eleven to zero says it all.
Would I do it all again? Consider the benefits. I had a significant say in choosing the leader who will affect the spiritual lives of my family and friends. As a student of human behavior, I got to be a participant/observer in a fascinating group. And I’ve established a firm friendship with three or four new people-one of them our new pastor. I trust he’ll be with us many years. But if he leaves, knowing what I know now, would I like to be part of the matchmaking business again? All I can say is I hope I don’t get left out.
Emory A. Griffin is an elder at First Presbyterian Church, Glen Ellyn, Illinois.
Copyright © 1983 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
