Spawning Grounds

The life of a Chinook salmon can be summed up in a single word: adaptation. Born in the freshwater streams in the upper reaches of mountainous river systems, juvenile salmon spend as little as three months in their birth habitat. Then, some impulse compels the salmon to leave their home and migrate downstream to estuaries, then into the open ocean.

They feed and mature. They swim the sea for two to four years, before instinct drives them homeward. Adults migrate from their marine environment into the exact freshwater streams of their birth in order to mate; spawning once before death. I've heard of salmon disintegrating in the water as they fight upstream towards their birthplace. They are literally falling apart, yet driven towards the spawn site with fierce determination.

Pizza and brick walls

In my first year of full-time ministry, I sat down for lunch with the leader of my past church's men's ministry. The church had been struggling for a while. Much of the trouble stemmed from a stagnant church leadership culture—it didn't seem like the people in leadership were listening to opinions other than their own. I felt hurt and frustrated, and like we were headed in the wrong direction.

My friend was just as tired and drained as I had been. Since he had been in his role longer than I had been in mine, I asked him how he continued to lead in this environment. "I'm still here because I think God can still change things," he said. "But when you've been beating your head against a brick wall, eventually it's going to knock you out."

Years later, over another pizza in a different restaurant, I sat across from the lead pastor of the church. Past experience said that a lunch conversation initiated by your lead pastor or an elder meant there was some "issue" that needed to be "discussed." I was wary. Before, these conversations had became monologues as an older leader spent much time correcting my mistakes, and little time listening or letting me ask for wisdom.

So I was caught off guard when this pastor listened, asking in-depth questions, and seeking my own authentic answers before offering his own wisdom. It was a dialogue, not a monologue. He was humble and gracious about it. I hadn't experienced anything like it before—an elder church leader initiating genuine relationship, dialogue, and mutual growth with an emerging leader.

Generativity or stagnation?

As a young pastor, I have a lot of conversations with other leaders early in their career who desire this kind of reciprocity. Their frustration often comes out in immature venting about their elders. It's easy to dismiss it as cynicism sometimes, without hearing the truth under the surface. But there's something deeper there. We young leaders want to grow into our calling, to begin, like the salmon, our life cycle. We want to run the race. We want to take the baton. But often it seems like our mentors are loathe to hand it to us.

Since I committed to ministry, I've seen more than one young church leader step up, speak out, share their hearts … and experience blank stares or (worse) smile-and-nod replies from the decision makers. They often receive a courteous, "Thanks for sharing. We'll think about that" instead of the engagement they're looking for. Jaded, some of them have abandoned the church altogether or started their own reactionary church plants meant to "fix" all the perceived wrongs of the elder generation.

They felt like they had beaten their heads against the brick wall, and many of them finally were knocked out.

Isn't there a better way?

Crises and questions

Psychologist Erik Erikson theorized that all humans pass through similar stages of development. In his view, each stage is defined by a particular crisis question, which the person could answer in one of two different ways of living their life.

In Erikson's middle-adulthood stage (40-65, the stage most senior church leaders are in), adults pursue the answer to the following question: can I make my life count? To borrow Erikson's language, it's a choice between "generativity and stagnation." The healthy response to this question requires generativity—giving oneself away for the sake of the next generation. Passing on wisdom, experience, praise, resources, and roles to the incoming young people guarantees that the legacy of the gospel will continue to thrive long after the current generation of leadership passes on.

But living in "stagnation" leads to a static plateau. One's life turns inward, taking instead of giving. It ultimately feels meaningless. While it might seem obvious to reject this posture, it can be hard to do this in practice. Older leaders have worked long and hard to get their churches, their families, and themselves to their current position. Choosing to truly give one's time, energy, preaching time, and chances for recognition away for the sake of younger leaders may feel more like self-destruction than self-sacrifice, like choosing the path of irrelevance and a loss of job security.

Perhaps older leaders feel like they must protect themselves and their work. Tyler Braun writes:

I know of far too many examples of older leaders running organizations who were unwilling to give someone younger a chance. It seems I'm not alone in this thinking. Many are imploring 20-somethings to bypass this model of waiting for permission. Older leaders are often more focused on protecting their power than they are in providing 20-somethings with the chance to make an impact.

If you're an older leader, I can't implore you enough, you gain power by entrusting it to others. You lose power by hoarding it.

I'm not asking older leaders to just swim upstream and die. My elders have years of insight to offer as a means of grace to me. My generation has plenty of wisdom to learn and mistakes to make. I would be wary of attending and serving in a church led only by elders in their thirties and absent of any literal elders. Most of the 20-somethings I know simply aren't ready to lead whole ministries or churches. Yet they'll never become ready unless the older generation prepares them.

For younger leaders like me, the crisis question Erikson suggests is the choice between intimacy and isolation. While older leaders wrestle with Can I make my life count? younger ones ask, Can I love?

We struggle with what it means to be intimate, to be authentic with others, to live closely in community. The love described in Scripture is one of sacrificial action, being with and for others as an advocate and guide. The Eriksonian question should cause change-driven young leaders to pause and evaluate their own hearts.

I need to ask myself: Do I genuinely love the church? Do I love the people in my congregation? My neighborhood? My city? Is love my primary motive in leadership? Or is it mixed with control, ambition, cynicism, or fear? Am I moving into intimacy or isolation?

Building a temple

In 1 Chronicles 22, David is nearing the end of his life. After many years of fleeing, fighting, and family feuds, he had led the people of Israel into a glorious kingdom. However, his desire to build a temple was thwarted by the Lord himself, who told him that he would not be the one to complete the temple—that honor would go to his son, Solomon. Notice David's response:

"My son Solomon is young and inexperienced, and the house to be built for the Lord should be of great magnificence and fame and splendor in the sight of all the nations. Therefore I will make preparations for it."

So David made extensive preparations before his death (1 Chronicles 22:5).

David is aware of his son's inexperience and the magnitude of the project. He responds by making "extensive preparations before his death." David also commands all the other leaders of Israel to help Solomon. David gives him a passionate charge to build the house of the Lord. His final words: "Arise and work! The Lord be with you!"

It's a biblical picture of generativity overcoming stagnation. David could have followed his predecessor, Saul, whose jealousy and self-preservation caused his downfall. Instead, David does the hard work of preparing his son for leadership, commissioning him, advocating for him. He gave his best to the next generation.

In my current context, the former lead pastor of 17 years was a godly and humble shepherd, beloved by the congregation and a gifted leader. Yet in his prime years of ministry, he chose to transition to a new denominational role and give up the lead pastor responsibilities of a large and growing church congregation to the youth pastor, a graduate student in his early thirties with around five years of pastoral ministry under his belt. It wasn't a decision made overnight, and it certainly didn't come without obstacles and concerns. Through ongoing prayer, Spirit-led discernment, intentional mentorship, and the clear affirmation of the gifts and vocational calling of this young leader, the former lead pastor cleared the path for the new lead pastor to step into the role. It was risky and bold and unprecedented. It was also exactly what God was leading both men to do, in spite of their fears and hesitations. Generativity is discipleship—an elder leader paces alongside an emerging leader, pointing out both pitfalls and vistas on the journey, spurring them on in their gifts and passions, and letting them lead when the time is right. David and Solomon. Paul and Timothy. Jesus and Peter. Spiritual parents investing into spiritual children.

What if all elder church leaders followed David's example? We need those resources and that mentorship. We need you to charge us to be courageous and not fear the call God has given. In some cases, that may mean handing the work of one's life to someone far less experienced. It may mean taking a strategic demotion in job title or salary. If you're an older leader, do you have a strategic plan in place for how to transfer the leadership of your congregation? Are you an advocate for younger leaders, speaking vision into their lives and being their loudest champion when critics arise? Generate. Don't stagnate.

Young leaders, we need to practice what we believe, even if we don't have a title or job description. We need to ask to be mentored, to be passionate and patient. We shouldn't abandon frustrating church cultures too quickly, but remain committed to building intimacy and loving the bride of Christ. Be intentional about pouring into the even-younger leaders in your own context—there are plenty of teenagers who need your mentorship.

We need to open ourselves to intimacy, to receive the wisdom and resources of our elders. All too soon, we'll be the ones swimming back upstream, preparing the next generation for the work of the gospel.

Joel Mayward is a pastor, writer, husband, and father living in Langley, British Columbia. He's written Leading Up: Finding Influence in the Church Beyond Role and Experience, and writes about youth ministry, film, theology, and leadership at his blog.