I spent my summers during high school working as a telemarketer. Every day, I called strangers to request money for the Leukemia Society, March of Dimes, or any other organization name that appeared on the script I was supposed to read.
The script always started with a standard “we need your help” spiel, and then the haggling began. Judging by the tone of the person’s voice, I’d suggest a dollar amount:
“Would you be willing to donate $75?”
Measuring the outrage in their response, I’d determine whether I recommend $50 or drop straight to $25.
“Okay, I understand that?sure?of course?but let me assure you that even the smallest bit helps. Could you spare $10? What about $5? Hello? Are you still?”
Dial tone.
If someone agreed to send money, we sent him a pledge card for the amount he agreed to contribute. More importantly, whenever I made a “sale,” I earned a tick on the white board:
Tyler C. – 1
We were expected to average one sale per hour. I was lucky to get one before lunch. So eventually I decided to try a new script.
Omitting the whole haggling routine, I started requesting a “standard $25 contribution.” But instead of asking if they would be willing to donate, I began asking for permission to mail them a pledge card. My new script read something like this:
“I’m calling on behalf of (INSERT CHARITY), and we’re sending out $25 pledge cards. Would it be alright if I sent one of these to you? Okay, great. I just need to transfer you to someone here who will confirm your address. It will only be a second. Thank you.”
Click.
Aha! Another tick mark for Tyler. After a few hours, I was on the verge of shattering a single day record. My co-workers stared every time I raised my hand (the universal sign that we had just snookered someone else into giving away a chunk of their savings). But alas, the success was short-lived. My sudden domination of the sales board raised some questions (legitimate ones) about my methods. Or maybe the flags were raised when at least a quarter of my tick marks were erased because my sales didn’t make it through the confirmation process – once people learned that our “standard pledge card” carried a little more commitment than I may have suggested.
One of my bosses listened in on a couple of my calls, and just before lunch she pulled me off the phones.
“You can’t say that,” she said.
“Why? They said I could send them the pledge card.”
She sighed. “Yes, but the pledge card is a commitment. Those people are just going to throw the card away.”
I did not see the problem. So what if most of them never donated a dime? They were more likely to contribute if they received a pledge card, right? Besides, each pledge card mailed meant another tick by my name (this was truly my main concern).
“Once they make a pledge, they are obligated to send the money,” she explained.
Somehow I had missed this during my training.
“We have another office that will keep calling until they send in the money they pledged.”
A decade later, I fear that innocent people are still being harassed about $25 standard pledges they never committed to send.
On some level, I think everyone expects deception from a telemarketer. That doesn’t make it right, of course. But I think most people walked away from that experience saying, “Yeah, I should have known better.”
But what happens when it’s the church luring them into commitments, when a pastor or deacon asks to add their name to the list for this committee, that event, or another responsibility? I can’t imagine the resentment that might create. I can’t begin to guess how much a ministry suffers when it is being done by people who feel obligated to fulfill their pledge.
My wife and I recently scheduled a meeting with our pastor to talk about ways we can get involved at church. After some small talk, our pastor launched into a description of the church’s ministries. I had to work to hide a wry smile. I know a telemarketer’s spiel when I hear one:
“Do you think you’d be able to help with communion? Oh, of course, but what about the information desk? That makes perfect sense, but we do have greeters?you could choose which service?Well, let me assure you that every little bit helps. Would you be willing to at least help with our parking lot team?”
But much to my surprise, our pastor didn’t say any of these things. After highlighting each ministry, he said, “I always urge people to take their time before getting involved.”
Say what?
“There are plenty of opportunities to help, but we really want to pair people with the ministry that’s the best fit for them. And we really encourage people not to choose more than one at first. We don’t want anyone to commit to more than they can handle.”
As I worked to keep my jaw from dropping, I thought, Man, this guy wouldn’t have gotten any tick marks!
My wife and I shook our pastor’s hand, thanked him for his time, and left without committing to anything. The following Sunday, I took special notice of the guys in parking lot wearing orange vests. The greeter’s handshake held my attention a little longer than usual. And for the first time, I noticed the group of people distributing the communion plates.
I don’t know if any of those ministries is the best fit for me, and I’m glad I don’t have to decide right now. But when I think about all the people who have decided to help, the service seems a little more special. I know they’re helping because they care, not because they were badgered into a commitment. And certainly not because they received a pledge card in the mail telling them what they owe.
