Unlikely Allies

The local church should look for windows of opportunity to ally with both government agencies and business to stem cultural decay.
—Ronald J. Fowler

The bar was called the Green Turtle, a sleazy basement liquor establishment in a weather-scarred apartment building. Here, rumor had it, prostitutes picked up clients and then used the upstairs apartments to ply their trade.

The Green Turtle was on a strip of Arlington Street known to locals as “Satan’s Headquarters.” The infamous street was lined with bars, infesting the community with drugs, alcohol, prostitution, and gambling.

On Arlington Street was also a church. In the early 1970s, I had become its new pastor, succeeding a long tenure by my father. Shortly thereafter, the mayor contacted me, asking if the church would consider, as part of a minority relocation program, moving closer to the suburbs. The city would make the land available to us at a discount and assist us in its development.

His offer was tempting; a fresh start elsewhere would allow us to escape the blight of Arlington Street. We declined, however. The area, we believed, needed a Christian witness.

City partners

Several years after refusing the mayor’s offer, our church experienced significant growth, requiring us to build. But no vacant lots existed in our seedy pocket of Arlington Street to expand our facilities.

Reflecting on the mayor’s prior willingness to assist our church, I called an assistant in the mayor’s office who had contacted me several years earlier. The mayor would see me, she told me, and she arranged a fifteen-minute appointment.

When it arrived, I didn’t want to waste my fifteen minutes, so I quickly made my point. “We have a need, and you have a need,” I began. I relayed our church’s history, explaining our need for expansion. And then I told him about his need.

“You have a major section of the city that cannot attract business development because of the crime,” I said. “Nor can it attract new housing developments. The property values of the area are plummeting.

“If you would assist us in dealing with the social problems in our church’s neighborhood, we would like to make a major investment by expanding our church facilities on Arlington Street. A new facility could raise area property values and increase your tax revenue base.”

The mayor slowly straightened in his chair and riveted his gaze on me. He picked up the phone and asked the chief of police and health director to come to his office.

When they arrived, the mayor said, “Reverend Fowler, could you repeat your story to these two men?”

In short, the mayor agreed to link arms with us. As a part of a complex agreement, the city agreed to be more aggressive in cleaning up the crime on Arlington Street. (Their previous crime policy on Arlington Street was containment: They treated its crime with benign neglect as long as it didn’t spread.)

They began rigidly enforcing the city’s building codes on the local bars, causing most to shut their doors. Then the city beefed up their police patrol, making numerous drug and prostitution busts, eventually closing down the Green Turtle and other businesses that we believed contributed to the area’s crime, rooting out Arlington Street’s unwanted clientele.

The city also made a proposal to HUD to redevelop our street. Before the city could receive federal funding for Arlington Street’s face-lift, officials needed to show investors were interested in the area. They needed our $850,000 expansion investment. For that to happen, however, we needed a place to expand, so the city purchased a block adjacent to our church, declaring eminent domain, and then sold it back to us at a reduced rate.

We finally were able to build.

From that experience I learned that the local church can work together with other institutions for redevelopment. We can look for windows of opportunity to ally with both government agencies and business to stem cultural decay.

Purposed institution

After reflecting on what transpired between Arlington Church of God and the city of Akron, I see at least two reasons why the local church is in a position to aid our nation in its war against crime, the endless cycle of poverty, and the other evils destroying our nation from the inside out.

The church is in the business of changing lives. That’s the heart of the gospel. One Sunday each year, our church holds a camp meeting sixty miles from Akron. (We still hold a church service in Akron on that Sunday, though it’s usually a bare-bones service for those not able to attend the day at the camp.)

This Sunday was no different. Most of our people had headed out of town for our meeting. I would preach at the early church service in Akron and then make the sixty-mile trek to the camp.

With the choir gone, our minister of music led the remnant of approximately twenty-five parishioners in a few congregational hymns, and then I got up to preach. After my sermon, a person unfamiliar to me walked up to the pulpit to make a profession of Christian faith.

As we talked, I invited him to come to my office the next week.

“I’ll be there, pastor,” he replied.

I then drove to our camp meeting. Later that morning, sitting on the platform where I would be speaking, I leaned over to my associate and said, “Guess what? While all the saints were rejoicing here at the camp ground earlier this morning, back in Akron, a man made a decision to follow Christ.”

“Great!” replied the associate. “What was his name?”

I told him.

“Pastor,” he gasped, “do you know who he is?”

“No.”

“That man is rumored to be a drug pusher,” he said. “He lives just a few doors down from the church.”

Later I learned that this man had stepped outside his door one morning several weeks prior to his conversion, looked up, saw our church steeple, and was moved to get his life squared away with God. He didn’t respond immediately, however. A few days later, two of his cronies were found dead, a bullet through each of their heads in an execution-style gangland shooting. He had planned to accompany them that evening, but at the last moment decided against it.

Several weeks later, when he came through our church door, his life began to be transformed. He is now holding a legitimate job, and is growing in his faith, attending our church regularly.

His story illustrates the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ to change lives. His seeing our church steeple and subsequent coming to faith is a testimony to the lasting change only the local church can provide. When it’s appropriate, then, maximizing our efforts by linking arms with city hall to bring about that lasting transformation makes good sense.

The church, by working within the system, can help shape the government’s attitudes toward needy people. One of my church members went to apply for welfare, and I decided to tag along. I dressed deliberately in my grubbies—worn jeans and T-shirt—to see firsthand what she had to endure. I had been working in my yard earlier in the day.

We drove to the welfare office, waited for our turn, and when my parishioner’s number was called, we walked to the window. “What are you here for?” the clerk asked, tersely.

“I want to apply for assistance,” my friend Sonya said.

The clerk motioned for us to go to the back of the service area where she would be interviewed. The person who assisted us then started grilling Sonya mercilessly, shoving forms at her with seeming contempt. Even the clerk’s tone of voice was negative and disrespectful.

“It’s doubtful whether you’ll qualify for the next month,” the clerk said. “This process may take two or more months.”

I bet they don’t treat everyone like this, I thought.

Just then one of the department administrators walked by the cubicle where we were seated. I happened to look up.

“Reverend Fowler,” this administrator oozed, “what are you doing down here?”

“I was working in my yard today,” I replied, “and decided to run a few errands with a friend from my church.”

“Do you know who this is?” the administrator said to the clerk. “This is Reverend Fowler who sits on the school board and is pastor of Arlington Church of God.”

All of a sudden, we were told that my parishioner’s check would be sent immediately. The entire tone of the interview moved 180 degrees.

Their treatment of my parishioner frustrated me. An institution designed to aid my parishioner was dehumanizing her. But that experience also reminded me that we need to work to change both individual lives and governmental structures. My parishioner needed the aid provided by the government. The governmental agency needed renewal too.

Because we serve the same constituency, why not link arms when meeting the physical needs of our shared community?

The church ought to be asking, “Who has the resources to help those needing food, clothing, shelter?” Some desperately needing faith in Christ also need the tools to move toward independence, breaking the cycle of poverty.

Marketplace ministry

After my experience partnering with city hall to build our new facility, opportunities arose for helping various community groups work with the disenfranchised of Akron. When I could, I did this in addition to my parish ministry.

My work with these various agencies took me into the power structures of the city, to people who would not normally enter a local church. It struck me one day that I was more than just the pastor of Arlington Church of God, that I also had a calling to be a priest in the marketplace. Making this a part of my calling has been one of the most satisfying aspects of ministry.

Not long ago, one of the city’s business leaders said, “Reverend Fowler, you’re the only pastor I know whose congregation is larger outside the church than inside.”

Though she’s not a member of my church, she still considers me her pastor. Through the years I’ve ministered to her family, once when one member endured a painful illness. She and her family are faithful to another church; I don’t pressure them to attend mine. When I know I’ll be speaking at someone’s church at a later date, I often say, “I’m going to be preaching at your church, and I’d sure love to see you there. If you have time, let’s go out for brunch after the service.”

Like salt, the purpose of my ministry is to penetrate the secular areas of my city with the presence of Christ, deliberately carrying Christ’s attitudes and concerns to the lonely, desperate men and women who are making monumental decisions affecting the lives of thousands in our community.

I’ve done that by sitting on the school board and the board of a local bank, and by initiating community projects in tandem with local business and governmental agencies. Through these opportunities, I’ve made a special point to develop friendships with no strings attached.

The president of a foundation that had given our church a grant for a community project asked me to come to his office to evaluate the success of the project. While we were sitting in his office, the telephone rang. The foundation president swiveled his chair around to the credenza, picking up the phone.

As he talked, with his back turned to me, his voice lowered, and his responses shortened: “Okay.” “Yeah.” And “All right.” He hung up the phone.

When he turned, tears were streaming down his face. I gently said, “Can I pray with you about something?”

“Reverend Fowler,” he sobbed, “what do you do when your heart has just been broken? That was my daughter. She’s just been served divorce papers. She has two children. We always hoped this would never happen to our family.”

We prayed there in his office. Moments such as those come along in marketplace ministry.

Marketplace addiction

Though my congregation has given me permission to minister outside the church walls, I’ve had to be on my guard. Here is a list of dangers endemic to a priestly ministry in the world of business and government.

An addiction to excitement. Real growth, more often than not, is painstakingly slow. But in the marketplace, getting things done is the way business is conducted.

That can be intoxicating to pastors who battle to get parishioners to attend a monthly board meeting. There is a subtle pull, when working with outside agencies, powerful business-types, the movers and shakers of the community. We are tempted to lose interest at home, to sabotage our ministry through neglect.

Losing credibility at home. Pastors who invest an inordinate amount of time away from their churches risk losing the trust of their people.

If our ministry is stumbling, needing more attention than we’re willing to give it, our hard-earned credibility will slowly erode. We have no business being elsewhere when things are shaky on the home front.

Politicizing the pulpit. Just because I sit on a school board doesn’t mean I have the right to use Sunday morning to influence my listeners to vote yes on an upcoming mill levy.

I’ve often felt drawn to pound the pulpit about certain social ills plaguing our city. I’ve seen firsthand the broken lives and think I know what it will take to turn this evil trend around. But I resist that temptation. My people need to hear God’s Word on Sunday morning.

Going in debt. The first axiom of the marketplace is, “I’ll scratch your back if you’ll scratch mine.”

I’ve consciously attempted not to play that game. As a priest in the marketplace, I’m carrying the presence of Christ, not networking and schmoozing with the powerful. In addition, I do not want to be indebted to politicians, business leaders, and government officials because these people will come to collect.

When I went to the mayor about redeveloping Arlington Street, I asked him to do it for the good of the community, not because I cared only for my parochial concerns. I never say, “I’ll support you if you’ll support me.”

Losing your vision. With all the social ills boxing me in, I have to be careful not to become so socially minded that I’m no spiritual good. For me, the hard question is, Am I helping people know God? Am I impacting their core belief system? Am I seeing lives changed?

My highest concern is to prepare people for eternal life. Any allies I make in the business world must not divert my commitment from what is eternal. I must balance my concern for the total person with a passion to see people draw near to God.

Trust payment

Not long ago, I received a call from a leader of a foundation that supports an educational training program for young people in our community. Our church is the headquarters and coordinator for the project.

“Reverend Fowler,” he began, “we’re at the end of our fiscal year. We’re convinced you’re serious about helping people. We have $2,500 left to distribute before our cycle ends. We’d rather not put it back in the pot, carrying it over to next year. Do you have any idea what you could do with $2,500?”

I choked back my first reaction to shout, “You bet we do!”

“May I have your fax number?” I said instead. “We do have a program we’d like to launch. I’ll send you a proposal this week.”

The check arrived three weeks later. His confidence in our ministry has been earned through years of our working with children, the youth, the poor, and single moms.

Many businesspeople view clergy as slick talkers but woefully ignorant of wise business principles. The only way I can link arms with business, government, and community leaders is if they trust me. I’ve found several factors that build credibility:

Stay put. Some have told me that one reason they trust me is my long tenure as pastor of Arlington Church of God—twenty-five years.

Administer shared programs well. The first time I went to see the leader of one of the largest foundations in Akron, I asked him if he would support a program to provide low-income, minority youth with job experience in areas of their vocational interest.

“Reverend Fowler, I want to help you for two reasons,” he said. “First, I’m tired of building buildings. Our foundation has been financing hospital and university buildings for years. I want to help people.

“Second, it’s hard to give away money intelligently. I must be able to trust those whom I’m financing.”

His comment reinforced my obsession to carefully manage other people’s money. The leaders of our church work hard to ensure that good bookkeeping practices and management procedures are in place so that funds are appropriately used.

In several instances, our church didn’t expend all the financial resources given to us. So we called the foundations, asking if we could hold the funds over for the next year, and they granted us permission. Whatever funds we receive must be used exclusively as budgeted.

It’s attention to these details that ensures fiduciary integrity, laying the groundwork for increased responsibility and trust by others.

Continue to identify needs that can realistically be met. The idea for one project hit me while visiting an elderly woman in one of our area’s nursing homes. As a professor of English literature at a well-known Ohio college, she had devoted her entire life to young people. She was one of the founders of what is now a national youth convention to inspire young people to faith and to train them for the real world.

The day I visited her, the stench of the nursing home was so foul I could hardly stay the few minutes I did. It struck me that here was this woman, who had no family structure and few resources, stuck in this institution with no hope. She had invested her life in people, and her final days would be spent alone in a rotting institution.

As I left that day, I asked God to provide the means for people such as this woman to live out their days in dignity. Not long afterward, I ran into an old friend at a youth convention.

“What do you have cooking on your burner?” he asked.

“I’d like to develop a home for the elderly around the biblical concept of koinonia,” I replied. “We would create a family atmosphere where they could live life fully until they die.”

This man eventually donated $60,000 to the project. We built a home near Arlington Church of God. Because most of the residents receive only $400 a month in social security, we needed more than what the residents could pay to cover our debt service.

Eventually, several banks and major corporations also contributed financially to the Wilson House, the city sold us the land at a reduced rate to build the house, and our church provided the volunteers and coordination of the project. The Wilson House is now a separate entity from our church, with its own board of directors.

Today there are sixteen residents in the Wilson House. The other day I went to see one of the elderly women in the home. She was sleeping when I arrived.

“Mother,” I said, “this is Pastor Fowler. How are you doing?”

“I’d recognize that voice anywhere,” she said, turning over. I bent down and kissed her on the forehead. She smiled and said, “Do you know what it’s like to be an old lady and receive a kiss?”

I silently praised God for providing the resources to create an environment where old ladies get kissed and can live out their years with joy. It shows what can happen when the church partners with business and government to meet the needs of “the least of these.”