Instead of mechanical procedures, my approach to leadership better resembles a courtly romance.
—Joel C. Hunter
In seminary I thought of the local church as a complex engine needing a mechanic. And that mechanic was me. My best move so far in ministry has been to toss that image away.
The local church is not a machine. It is more like a person with a complex personality. Christ pictured this person as his bride. Certainly she has different aspects to her personality, but when I get bogged down trying to analyze them, I lose passion for our life together.
Instead of mechanical procedures, my approach to leadership better resembles a courtly romance. I nourish the same attitude toward my congregation as a suitor would toward his sweetheart. The results have been outstanding in church growth and development. Following are a few personal examples of this approach.
From Court to Courting
In my first board meetings, I assumed the role of defense attorney arguing for various progressive issues. I would lay out the facts about and advantages of air conditioning, for example. Prior to the meeting, I would make a guess as to who would be for air conditioning and who would be against it, carefully arranging my arguments with those categories of voters in mind. Or I might plead the cause for a new missions emphasis, quoting scriptural precedent, chapter and verse. The juries were always sympathetic, but several problems became painfully, consistently evident.
First, decisions were largely negative because of counterissues: “We don’t have enough money right now” or “If we support one project, we have to support the other.” Not much was said about the needs of individuals.
Second, my relationships with “jury members” were strained after a few meetings. Every comment seemed to bear a suspicious hidden agenda.
I once believed that church conflict paved the way to progress. All I needed to do was see that the right side won. Now I view conflict as a civil war within a person (the church), a war that gains no new ground. Progress can only be made as conflict is healed and forgotten. A house divided cannot hear the invitation of the Master: “Follow me.” Now I work to deemphasize fragmentation and emphasize invitation to mutual adventure with Christ.
Many romances begin as business relationships and progress to personal intimacy. Unfortunately, too many lay/clergy relationships regress instead of progress. They begin with a desire for personal intimacy, but when the business aspect must be executed, the warmth is executed too. Some of us pastors have been attracted to heading a church … whose heart we have never known. The most effective leaders know that when you inspire the heart, the rest follows.
Eventually I concluded that my approach to church business was ineffective, to say the least. I took a second look at Jesus’ style. He had so much more going for him than facts and arguments. He was more winsome than winning; he exercised more influence than control. His approach was more intuitive than formulated, his authority more sensed than seen.
In matters of church business, I began to ask myself, “Why do I want this item passed?”
My conclusion: “Because we can do it together in love to be constructive for God.” Then it dawned on me as it dawns on every suitor who is sweet on a girl: “It doesn’t really matter what we do together as long as we are together.”
The word “court” became a verb instead of a noun. Issues became secondary—more of an excuse for us to be together. Personal attention and respect in the middle of the business of the church was like manna in the wilderness. Eventually we became reluctant to make decisions that would interfere with the love and warmth necessary for progress. Courtship had replaced one-upmanship.
From Predetermined to Predetermined
After some months of dating, flirtation, and intrigue with my wife-to-be, the questions arose: Is our relationship merely a product of chance? or Are we meant to be together by some higher plan?
Tracing the unusual coincidences that led to our meeting, we decided it was the latter. In our more romantic moments we still cherish the fact that our marriage was “meant to be.” It is the icing on the cake.
What most fascinates me, though, is that this conviction is even more valuable in our struggles. While the implications of predetermination provide fodder for theological debate, the effects of predetermination on us are remarkable. It adds a sense of permission, power, and stewardship to the relationship.
When I met each of my congregations, we likewise were convinced that God’s plan for us was being fulfilled. Here, too, a sense of divine leading from the start (predetermination) energized and motivated me to carry out my part of the enterprise to the best of my ability. But the conviction also gave me a determined sense of accountability (predetermination) to accomplish the quest.
It had specific effects as well. In seminary, I considered Bible study and prayer to be matters of personal edification. In the church, these exercises provide my instructions from the Matchmaker. In seminary, my worth depended upon how much I knew. In a church relationship, my power comes from how consistently I love.
Not too many years ago I found myself facing a very angry parishioner. As he told me how little he thought of my ministry, I grew quiet, trying to defuse the confrontation. Afterward, I was pretty shaken up and found myself with two conflicting thoughts. At first I raged, Who needs this? I’m a good minister with solid gifts. Maybe I ought to get out of here and find a church where everyone will appreciate me!
The irrational last half of my first thought sparked my second thought: If God has placed me in this congregation, escape is not a valid choice. I suspect I—as well as my angry parishioner—can learn something by my staying.
The idea that God has plans for individual lives is a great source of strength and cause for perseverance. Jesus expressed it when he said, “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last” (John 15:16).
People who believe they are a key part of the highest plan are people who have the key to behave on the highest plane.
From Screen to Screened
Our culture is now emerging from two decades in which people have pursued intimacy with reckless abandon. The hangover from this phenomenon still affects leadership styles.
The basic assumption goes something like this: “Leaders are people who need others to love them, but they can’t be loved until they reveal themselves. The more they reveal, the more there is for others to love. So tell all!” While the basic theory is valid, many times the basic practice is not. The let-people-get-to-know-you-by-letting-them-go-through-your-garbage dynamic is neither appetizing nor particularly effective.
When I was fresh out of seminary, over a dozen years ago, I assumed the church was like the seminary community. I figured the congregation considered the pastor a colleague and peer. I was wrong. I did silly things. I remember telling an offcolor joke in a men’s group one day. I was trying to communicate my humanness. Maybe some did feel closer to me because I was not above them. I couldn’t tell. What I could tell in the following months was that my ability to lead those men spiritually had plummeted.
Another time I responded to a parishioner’s confession with, “Oh, don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve had those feelings, too, and never resolved them.”
She shot back, “Then I’ve got to see someone else. I need help up!”
Projecting all I am and all I think for anyone to see on a huge screen is not bad. It’s stupid. Let’s move “screen” from a noun to a verb.
We need to screen what we reveal in the same way a wise suitor screens his conduct and conversation. Romance wants to weave a positive context for intimacy. Discretion is not deception. When we were dating, we first put our best foot forward. As the relationship grew to maturity, we gradually revealed weaknesses in proper perspective. Then “bearing one another’s burdens” could be an act of intimacy rather than a form of exhibitionism. A congregation has the same initial needs as a girlfriend: They both need time to trust my best so I can trust them with the rest.
Before I share intimate information with people, I screen thoughts with these criteria:
- Am I revealing this for my benefit, for their benefit, or for the Lord’s benefit?
- Can the people I am telling do anything about what I am revealing?
- Will their possession of this information increase my ability to help them?
I have decided not to bare my soul in wide-screen splendor without first screening the timing and content in light of the needs of the person of my affection.
From Grace to Grace
Question: What is the difference between attending a third-grade dance recital and watching Fred Astaire spin across the floor with Ginger Rogers?
Answer: Watching the one, you hope the dancers do well, but you’ll applaud no matter what. Watching the other, you want to dance.
There are two aspects of grace, both positive. One involves our worth to our heavenly parent. The other involves movement, disciplined yet free, so impassioned it elicits our own self-expression. The first aspect of grace comforts, the second excites. In like manner, one aspect of romantic love is famously unconditional (“love is blind”). But the most powerful aspect of romantic love is that it exists to elicit reciprocal love.
Consider two preachers I’ve known. One preacher crafted his sermons in the most careful way. Each presentation was constructed correctly, performed with few mistakes, and rewarded with the appropriate, “That was a good one, Reverend.” And surely God loved him in his efforts. Yet the sermons were mechanical, driven, brittle, and validated only by approval.
The other preacher’s whole life gave his sermon integrity. He didn’t present his sermon, his sermon presented him! The privilege of preaching consumed and fascinated him. He was spirited, confident, and flexible in the pulpit. He often changed tone and content in response to the expressions on people’s faces. His sermons were valid regardless of any response, but there was definite response.
The difference between these two approaches is the difference between the Law and the Christ. One is an export from self, the other the expression of self. When the gift cannot be separated from the giver, it is an offering that creates a longing within the recipient.
Perhaps the most powerful element in both romance and ministry lies in the messenger’s being so caught up in the message that the recipient is moved to respond. The highest evaluation of preaching—or any ministry of grace—is this: Do people move beyond accepting the unconditional love (grace) to offering themselves in response (graceful living)? The graceful pastor imparts both kinds of grace to the person (congregation) he romances.
Jesus tenderly turned power upside down. Instead of political power, he chose the kingdom of the heart, saying, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). This dimension of leadership goes further than principles of excellent pastoral practice; it snuggles up to the person’s heart.
Those who find this dimension of ministry discovery magnetism. Romance is not confined to football captains and homecoming queens; romance can and should describe the love affair between a pastor and his congregation.
Copyright © 1997
