Humble Pie

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I handed my wife a photo of “Ground-breaking Sunday.” It was a beautiful scene. Senior citizens, children, new families, and our leadership team were celebrating the start of construction on our new ministry center. She graciously smiled and said, “Frame it, and let it be a reminder of your need to be humble.”

The picture that was supposed to represent a great moment in the life of our church actually represented some deeply personal lessons on how to lead a congregation through risk, uncertainty, and failure.

Four years earlier, I had cast the vision for this new facility we desperately needed. Our leadership team had determined to pursue a capital campaign that relied completely upon the gifts of our people. No debt. Our church family had given faithfully over a three-year period, and our construction estimates indicated that we finally had enough funding.

While it could have opened our leadership team up to criticism, our confession actually endeared us to our people.

The final bids came back a few days after Groundbreaking Sunday. Much to our dismay, they were markedly higher than anyone expected. We would have to reduce the size of the project, renege on our commitment to build the facility debt-free, or ask our people for more money. Panicked, I asked our building chairman, “So, what exactly did we do on Groundbreaking Sunday?”

“I think we need to look at it as a ceremonial groundbreaking,” he said.

I groaned.

Immediately, we faced two issues: our leadership team had to determine how we were going to address this problem, and we had to decide what to communicate to our church.

From the beginning, we determined that process was as important as product, especially in our situation. Eventually, we asked our church for an additional $130,000 and an extension of their previous pledge commitments for another three years. They overwhelmingly supported our direction, funded the $130,000 two months ahead of schedule, and over-committed to the remaining need. We were stunned.

God used the crucible of risk as a teachable moment for me, for our leadership team, and for our church family. My hope is that the lessons we learned will guide us through our next season of crisis or at least make us a little more confident the next time we have to say, “We don’t know what to do.”

Lesson 1: Take the opportunity to be humble.

I began to view our crisis differently when I chose to embrace humility. This did not come easily. In fact, the critical moment happened during a leadership meeting. Our pastors and deacons were discussing the options and how to inform the church family. I suggested we should at least do something—like removing trees or grading the property— so that our people would be encouraged that we were making progress. I was looking for cover.

One of our pastors expressed his concern about that idea.

“We should be honest with the church,” he countered, “not just manage perceptions.”

I shot back with a defensive statement that did little more than reveal that he was right. What happened next broke me and forced me to deal with lesson number one.

The building chairman said, “Perhaps what our brother is trying to say, Pastor, is that we ought to not miss an opportunity to be humble.” The possibility of failure was surfacing my deadly enemy: pride. God was clearly humbling me, and it was time to get on board.

Lesson 2: Confess your mistakes.

My effort to protect our church was really a veiled attempt to protect myself. Humility liberated me to be honest.

At a special business meeting I laid out all the facts, figures, and information. But the most important thing that I said was “We have honestly made some mistakes along the way, and right now we do not know what to do.” Furthermore, while it could have opened our leadership team up to criticism, it actually endeared us to our people.

Our choice not to “protect” them was more helpful than I ever imagined. I was amazed to learn that people are comforted in crisis by knowing that their leaders are being honest, even if it is embarrassing.

Lesson 3: Seek God’s will together.

The church’s response caused me to see that this season of uncertainty was an opportunity for all of us to learn about seeking God’s will.

We were at a crossroads moment, so we invite the entire church to participate with us in seeking God’s will. We identified our major obstacles, decision points, and key dates. We gave numerous updates, wrote many letters, and kept the information in front of our people for two months. Our desire was to seek God’s will together and see what we would learn.

The capstone of this lesson came by way of a sermon illustration. I had spent an entire day out of the office praying, writing, and wrestling with what to do. I placed two five-gallon white buckets in front of the pulpit. One bucket had the word “Grace” written on it. The other bucket read “Wants, Needs, and Desires.” I told our church that one of the lessons for me was our need to love the “Grace Bucket” more than the “Wants, Needs, and Desires Bucket.” I shared with them that more than anything else, God wants us to rely on and live by grace.

I held up the “Wants” bucket and said, “Sometimes our desire for this bucket is too strong. Our problems with the ministry center project have taught me that God’s granting us grace is more valuable than anything else.” I took the “Wants Bucket” and placed it inside the “Grace Bucket.”

It was a monumental moment in understanding God’s will. Even to this day, people in our church talk about their “Grace Bucket” and how it relates to their lives. Seeking God’s will together gave us a lasting lesson.

Lesson 4: Joy in shared risk.

As I was preparing for our annual widows brunch, I walked by our capital campaign progress board. After six weeks, we only needed $850 more to “re-start” construction.

After the brunch, one of the widows stopped me and said, “I noticed the remaining need, and I would like to help us start building.” A gracious widow closed this chapter in our church’s history when she handed me a check to bring our need to zero.

A few weeks later, our church family lined the center aisle and brought our new three-year commitments to the front of the auditorium. At the front of the church was the “Grace Bucket.” One by one the new commitments were dropped in. Our joy was visible and audible as the body reflected how the Lord had orchestrated all the events over the last five months.

Almost a year later, we celebrated again. This time we gathered inside the new ministry center at the completion of the weather-tight phase. We worshiped inside a cold room that would soon have drywall, carpeting, lights, and chairs. The atmosphere was electric.

As part of the celebration, our people were invited to write a brief testimony on the walls before they were covered. The testimonies were incredible and reflected the substantial work that God had accomplished in our lives. The building would be embedded with a written record of God’s grace.

In the end, our joy was magnified by the risk. If we had insulated our people from the risk, we would have robbed them of the joy.

I still have not decided what to do with the picture from Groundbreaking Sunday. After all, it is a great picture of a historic moment in the life of our church. The picture, however, represents more than history to me.

Part of me wants to do exactly what my wife said: frame as a reminder that some of the most teachable moments in ministry come when we don’t know what to do.

Mark D. Vroegop is senior pastor of Calvary Baptist Church in Holland, Michigan.