When I pay respect to the successes of the past, I gain goodwill and trust.
—Bob Moeller
Iremember when we had to set up seats in all the side rooms on Sunday mornings,” the old man said. “We sometimes took two, even three offerings for missions in the morning service. Ah, those were the days.”
We looked around at the sanctuary, now only a third full. The side rooms were cordoned off by cracking vinyl dividers. The room had the smell of emptiness.
So much had changed. In the last forty years, the city’s social and economic composition had shifted. The young fathers and mothers of the glory years were now older and tired. Their grown children had moved to the suburbs.
“Jim, this church can have a significant ministry again,” I said. “But we’re going to have to adapt to the neighborhood we now live in.”
His eyes revealed fear. Would “adapting” mean getting rid of everything familiar and precious to him? Would there still be a place for him and his wife and the pioneers who had founded the church?
Though my current church is healthy, over the years I’ve learned to identify the different groups left in a declining congregation. Each group has its own character, cause, and reasons for staying with a ship that is taking on water. To stop the decline, a pastor must have a working knowledge of each group and a strategy to motivate each one.
Pioneers
Unless a church is more than ninety years old, there are usually individuals who remember when the church began.
“Yes sirree, Pastor,” said Stuart, a man in his late seventies. “I remember back in the ’50s, coming here after work and digging out this basement by hand. It took all summer, but the pastor and several of us did it all ourselves.”
As I looked at the large building, now located in a deteriorating inner-city neighborhood, I realized what a feat that must have been. Each shovelful of dirt had been carted out in wheelbarrows. Stuart had mixed his sweat with the mortar of this structure. Now his once-proud building stood aged and weather-worn. The paint was peeling. The cement stoop had pieces of concrete missing. The congregation was a quarter of the size it was when Stuart was young.
But Stuart was still there. Like most pioneers, he wasn’t about to give up his homestead. He still talked about the twenty-four-hour prayer vigil the church held the day the first mortgage payment was due. He recalled the first Sunday that a couple from the congregation volunteered for overseas missionary service. All his children had been raised in the church.
Because of his seniority, Stuart served as unelected spokesman for the pioneers. When important issues came to a vote, the remaining pioneers turned in the pews to take their cue from him.
Pioneers are the last people to leave a declining church. They also suffer most when the dawn of ministry gives way to the twilight of dwindling attendance. Like the elders of ancient Israel, they weep when they remember the glory of the first temple.
What motivates pioneers to stay in a declining church? Like E. Stanley Jones, the great missionary to India earlier this century, pioneers wish to bury their heart in the place they have served so long. That’s why people in their nineties will ride city buses in twenty-below-zero weather to attend church. That’s why they will show up for an evening program when everyone else is on vacation. That’s why they will give to every offering, regardless of their fixed income. If there are ten people left in the church, seven will likely be pioneers.
It’s tempting for pioneers to blame the younger generation for the losses and changes. After all, when the pioneers were young, the church prospered. There was rarely a shortage of volunteers or new members. There’s often the suggestion that subsequent generations have dropped the ball.
“These younger people just aren’t committed the way we were,” I’ve heard pioneers say. “We brought our children to prayer meeting on Wednesday nights. Now they stay home and watch television.”
Younger generations may accept the notion they’re to blame. Stories of the spiritual triumphs of an earlier generation rub salt in younger members’ wounds of guilt and inadequacy. The result may be mutual suspicion between the older and younger groups.
For the church to move forward, the blaming needs to be addressed. Everyone must realize the decline is due more to the changes in the community than the spiritual inadequacy of any one group.
Most pioneers are realistic; they know the glory days can never be recaptured. They will usually admit things have to change in order for the church to grow. What they’re listening for is the assurance that their heritage will not be forgotten or trampled on. Pioneers’ deepest need is for someone to understand and appreciate what they have accomplished.
When I suggested a seeker-sensitive Sunday afternoon outreach, I reminded the pioneers that they held similar services in the 1930s. Then, they had tried to attract children whose parents attended more traditional churches in the morning. They hadn’t called their effort “seeker-sensitive evangelism,” but that’s what it was. The pioneers couldn’t argue with the idea, and they appreciated the fact that I recognized and respected their past innovation and success.
It’s better to stand on the shoulders than on the toes of previous pastors. When I pay respect to the successes of the past, I lose nothing. I gain goodwill and trust—two elements crucial to making changes that get the church growing. Then I can tap into pioneers’ strong sense of commitment. When I suggested a barbecue on the front lawn to meet community neighbors, Stuart showed up in a pair of Levi’s, ready to serve.
Curators
Another group that hangs on despite the growing shadows of sunset is the curators. Usually a much smaller group of people, it is most often made up of grown children of the pioneers. Their goal is to keep the church building open at all costs as a living memorial to their parents. Like curators in a museum, they wish to preserve the history and legacy of a previous generation.
Any change in program or worship is seen as an affront to the church’s founders. It’s as unthinkable as selling the furniture from a deceased parent’s home. The church becomes a shrine not to be disturbed or altered. The curators’ goal is not renewal but preservation. Even as the church loses ground, they desperately fight to keep things as they were.
There are two reasons why the curators are usually few in number.
First, most grown children of the pioneers moved away as young adults (often to more prosperous settings) and have little more than a nostalgic interest in the church’s welfare.
Second, healthy Christians usually recognize that churches grow and change with the times. They find other ways to pay homage to their parents and grandparents than by keeping the same hymnbook in the pew for forty years.
Curators are crucial individuals in the church’s makeup. Because of their staunch commitment to keeping the church going, they often assume significant roles. Many declining churches show a noticeable absence of adults between ages forty and fifty-five; the few that stay are often curators.
To motivate the curators toward growth and change is no easy task. In fact, they are usually more resistant than the pioneers. When I suggested a significant change in outreach strategy at a former church, it was a curator who dug in her heels: “What we need to do is get it back to the way it used to be.”
The place to begin motivating curators is to assure them you share their deep desire to see the church doors stay open. You must convince them that the best chance of survival is to make certain adjustments. One effective means of getting curators on board is to dedicate a project to a person they have held in high esteem. Ultimately, you have to help curators see that a revitalized church, built on the historical and unchanging truths they hold to, is the most fitting memorial they can erect to their parents.
Dysfunctionals
In every declining church are people attracted by the confusion and chaos of long-term disintegration. These people are comfortable in a church of constant turnover and crisis; it may mirror the home in which they grew up. Instability and tumult are all they’ve known, so a church on the skids, scrambling to raise finances and always a month from disaster, makes them feel at home.
Dysfunctional people typically try to ingratiate themselves with the new pastor. Later, sensing a real or imaginary rebuff, they become hostile. “You’re just the person for this place,” they initially croon. Six months later, they question his spirituality. The pastor is first a messiah, then a false prophet.
In a previous church we served, a couple attempted to schedule virtually all of our free time to be with them. When we were unable to meet such unrealistic obligations, they turned on us and worked hard to turn others against us.
One characteristic of this group is that they fear newcomers and growth. One man said to me in tears, “Why do we have to reach out to new people? What’s wrong with us? I’m a nobody out in the world. You bring in new people, I’ll be a nobody again.” He needed a great deal of assurance that he would still receive love and acceptance even if the church began attracting outsiders.
Motivating dysfunctional individuals to contribute to renewal requires generous amounts of strength and grace. You must both establish boundaries and return love for insults.
At one of our first churches, one family refused to speak to us for some time because of an offense we had supposedly committed. They were hoping we’d notice their manipulative behavior and ask what was wrong. But we decided to treat them as if we were still friends. We went out of our way to greet them and return smiles for scowls. It became increasingly awkward for them to ignore us. Eventually, they started speaking to us again.
One word of caution. It’s important to discourage dysfunctionals from assuming high-stress leadership positions. All sorts of crazy behavior can kick in when the pressure is on. Steer such individuals toward lower profile, less stressful roles.
In the end, as you model healthy relationships and responses to life, these individuals may discover there is a better way to cope with life. As they sense love and affirmation within clear boundaries, they can learn to make significant contributions to the renewal of the church.
Stand-by Passengers
Another group you’ll often find in a failing church are those who have packed their bags and decided they’re on the next lifeboat out if things don’t improve soon.
Stand-by passengers are typically gifted, upwardly mobile individuals who are frustrated and exhausted by the problems at the church. They often have children at home and are worried about the lack of organization and quality programs for their kids. They have often lost close friends to other congregations. They feel socially isolated and under pressure to make a change themselves. All they want is a church that works.
You have only a short window of opportunity to persuade the stand-by passengers to stay. If you can’t produce signs of recovery and growth soon, they’re gone.
What stand-by passengers need most is hope, some sign that things aren’t going from bad to worse. They need to know you believe things are going to change.
When I served as an interim pastor years ago, I demonstrated my faith in the church’s future by bringing my family to all the services. We tried to communicate that we believed in the church and that we were there, body, soul, and spirit.
You will lose a number of stand-by passengers. Rarely can you make things happen fast enough to persuade certain people to stay. These people often become outside donors, assuaging their guilt for leaving by mailing a check once a month.
Even so, I have also watched families tear up their tickets and choose to stay. A few well-attended events may be enough to persuade stand-by passengers to unpack their bags.
In one struggling church, we held a successful film festival. The room was packed, something people hadn’t seen in a long time. One stand-by came up to me smiling and said, “I didn’t know the floor could hold this many people.” He stayed to take a volunteer position in the church.
The Remnant
In every church that has suffered a slow, painful demise, some remain because they are convinced God will revive their church. They belong to what the Old Testament writers referred to as “the remnant in the land.”
These saints faithfully teach a Sunday school class with only three children in attendance. They serve on boards and help plan church conferences they know will be poorly attended. They drive aging vans to pick up children and are always the first to volunteer for a new outreach program.
At first blush, these people seem out of touch with reality. Can’t they see the church is nearly empty? That the choir has only eight people in it? That the parking lot is growing weeds?
The answer is yes. They know the church has no money, the pews are empty, and the basement smells of mold. But they don’t walk by sight, they walk by faith. They have a quiet conviction that the church will once again serve the purpose God intends for it. Like Abraham and Sarah, they continue to believe the impossible.
It’s not difficult to motivate this group. They pray, they serve, and they rarely complain.
When a giant food company donated 14,000 sealed hot dogs (with a shelf life of ten years) to our church, one of the remnant went home and began experimenting with recipes. He took all the canned goods available in our food pantry and devised meals that tasted delicious. He then passed out recipe cards to the needy who came for the food. That’s the stuff the remnant is made of.
Motivating the remnant involves acknowledging their faith and believing with them that better days will return for the church. Though I was their pastor, I learned more from the remnant about trusting God than I ever taught them.
Allies United
One fascinating story from D-Day involved the 101st Airborne Division. Shortly after midnight on June 6, 1944, elements of the 101st parachuted into the darkness of France. Their mission was to link up with one another, then secure the key bridges and crossroads for the soldiers who would land on the beaches later that morning.
As often happens in war, things didn’t go as planned. Heavy cloud cover and poor visibility forced planes to scatter before they reached their drop zones. As a result, soldiers were dropped miles from one another all over the French countryside.
In the early morning darkness and confusion, General Maxwell Taylor, commander of the 101st Airborne, found himself all alone in the pitch black. When he spotted another soldier groping his way through the darkness, he demanded the individual identify himself. It was one of his troops, as lost and frightened as he.
The two were so overjoyed to find one of their own that they put aside military protocol and hugged each other. “It was at that very moment I knew we were going to win the war,” said General Taylor.
When various groups in a declining church, separated and isolated by discouragement, link up again in a common cause, the tide of events will change. As history demonstrates, allies joined together in a common cause can win great victories.
Copyright © 1997
