For many Christian leaders, "failure" is a scary, dirty word; the true "f-bomb." After all, in a ministry culture obsessed with image, success, and results, few things are more frightening. Today, my friend J.R. Briggs, a theme contributor in this month's issue on The Upside of Failure from Leadership Journal, shares why our culture's skewed definition of "success" is so deadly for church leaders … and what we can do to change it.
For more background, read J.R's article "Epic Fail," and my piece on attending an Epic Fail event: "Among the Successful Failures." Also, watch for the release of J.R.'s forthcoming book, Fail on July 6th, with a foreword by Eugene Peterson and an endorsement from yours truly. -Paul
Paul: Do you think that the Church has failed at failing?
J.R.: That's an interesting (yet fitting) way to phrase it. Yes, it seems we've failed twice.
We live in a culture that worships success—and sadly, our church culture has bought into it.
First, what at least the North American Church lacks is a deep and robust theology of failure. We live in a culture that worships success—and sadly, our church culture has bought into it.
And second, we've failed in our reactions to failure. We seem to be shocked when we experience it at all. Our Christian brothers and sisters in the East expect it; not in a fatalistic or masochistic way, but in a way of expectation that breeds intimacy with the Father. Yet it seems like the Church in the West can't believe we'd experience anything other than success and smooth sailing. Not only are we surprised by it, but also we immediately see it as a curse. Yet, Jesus promised we would experience it if we follow him faithfully.
Richard Rohr said that we grow spiritually much more by doing it wrong than by doing it right. That is, failure can be a blessing—if we see it as such. This has all sorts of implications for how we think about failure, especially as pastors and Christian leaders.
Was that the inspiration for the book?
Yes—my purpose in writing a book about failure and ministry was to offer the Church a tool to help us learn how to fail successfully. Failure is a beautiful gift wrapped in an ugly package. With a redemptive view, it is an opportunity to experience grace in new expressions and on new levels. As pastors we have to model this way of life faithfully for the people entrusted to our care. More is caught than taught. People are watching us to see how we respond to failure, and it's time for us to stop being afraid.
Thanks for that. What role do you think culture plays in our understanding of failure?
Well, we love stories of those who have failed, but who eventually "climb the mountain" again to glory, don't we? Hollywood thrives off those storylines. I think that in the past few years, our culture has begun to talk more openly about failure. On the surface, this sounds encouraging, but I think it is still a veiled narrative of success. Certainly, it's beneficial to learn from failures, but oftentimes the underlying motivation in these discussions is just to learn how not to fail again . . . so we can get ahead and be more "successful" in the future. The sad thing is that it's our church culture has adopted this view as well. Much of the time, it drives how we think about ministry. It may be less blatant, but it's there if we look for it.
When we obsess and fixate on success, fear escalates. And when fear is present, true freedom is absent.
Here's the problem with that. When we obsess and fixate on success, fear escalates. And when fear is present, true freedom is absent. Jesus came to give us freedom. In my book I quote Ken Davis, who wrote that when we truly understand freedom we realize we can live with nothing to hide, nothing to lose and nothing to prove.
That sounds quite similar to what Paul's letter to the Galatians was about. The cross has freed us from the bondage of slavery—even bondage of the success/failure mindset. This is freedom language. The hope of the Christian story is that because the tomb is empty, the pressure's off. But so often, we choose to live as if the tomb were still occupied.
Another side effect of our obsession with success/failure is that that we can easily disregard the value of faithfulness and obedience. In John 15, Jesus repeats the command to remain. Fruit bearing happens because of the remaining, the connection. Jesus then makes this startlingly clear statement: "apart from me you can do nothing." It is important for us leaders to think long and hard about this. Do I actually wholeheartedly believe what Jesus said to be true in my own life?
Was there a particular moment that your own definition of failure changed?
I don't think there was a particular moment. It has been a continual process of growth, discovery and refinement. Maybe the best way to describe it is that it has been a "soul detox." I've had to unlearn—and the unlearning continues—the inaccurate and distorted view of what success in ministry really is.
This, of course, directly relates to a definition of failure as well. Over the past few years I've wondered aloud with friends if Jesus would even be invited to speak at most of the pastors' conferences today. The more I reflect on it, the more convinced I am that the invitation would never be offered. This disturbs me—and I imagine it disturbs Jesus, too.
In the midst of the detox, I've shifted in how I think about ministry health. These movements away from old thinking and toward new thinking have freed me. They have shifted my emphasis from produce to process. I'm putting higher priority on relationships. I'm highlighting numbers less and stories more. I'm focusing my time and attention less on "efficiency" and more on congruence.
I sense that you're nearly as uncomfortable with ministry celebrity culture as I am. What does that culture say about our success/failure paradigm?
Eugene Peterson writes that our current church mentality in North America is that of "religious shopkeeping." He observes that we're obsessed with keeping the customers happy and luring other customers away from the religious shops down the street. I cringe every time I read that assessment.
For the most part, he's right. In many ways, we're still longing for Saul to be our king. Sometimes I wonder if what our churches long for deep down is to have great pastors . . . so we don't actually have to trust our great God.
Think of the irony: Jesus, who had every right to be a celebrity, intentionally removed himself from the crowds and often told people not even to talk about what he had done. We, who have no right to think of ourselves as celebrities, intentionally move toward the spotlight, seek out the crowds, and eagerly tell people about what we've done. The contrast is stark and unsettling.
The term celebrity pastor is an oxymoron in the economy of the kingdom.
The term celebrity pastor is an oxymoron in the economy of the kingdom. This mindset of ministry celebrity culture lacks a "He must become greater, I must become less" posture and conviction.
I do want to be clear (there is often confusion and defensiveness here): just leading a large church does not equate to being a celebrity pastor. I do not believe large churches are inherently wrong. What I believe is wrong is to desire leading a large church for the wrong motivations. A culture obsessed with celebrity pastors misses the posture of Christ's leadership. There are many ministry "success" temptations available to pastors—and the larger the church is, the more accessible those temptations are. I have tremendous respect for pastors of large churches who remain in the pulpit but purposefully refuse to be put on a pedestal.
Many church leaders are deeply (and understandably) afraid of turning into a ministry "horror story." In your estimation, what's the best way to avoid failure?
The best litmus test for grace in a church is to see how it responds when one of its leaders fails. Everyone will quickly see if this is a church that simply talks about grace or one that actually embraces it. It's not so much in avoiding failure as it is learning to respond appropriately and gracefully. It's learning to fail in a Jesus kind of way.
Our big mistake is to fear failure. Because we fear it, we don't talk about it, acknowledge it, or provide safe spaces to process it when it happens.
Our big mistake is to fear failure. Because we fear it, we don't talk about it, acknowledge it, or provide safe spaces to process it when it happens. We avoid it. When we experience it, we cover it up. We cut off the supply valve of grace, and stunt people's spiritual maturity in the process.
Certainly, grace is awkward, painful, inefficient, and messy, but the good news is that it is worth it. It is impossible to grow without vulnerability. And naming things has a way of changing things.
Practically, one of the best things a pastor can do is to prayerfully seek out wise and trusted friends and extend to them an All-Access Pass to their lives, where nothing is off-limits. We're trained to keep secrets, but we are terrible at sharing our secrets with others. Having other honest voices speak into your life is scary, but incredibly beautiful. It also can keep pastors out of a lot of trouble.
In your work with Epic Fail events, is there a pivotal moment where you see this all "click" for leaders? What do we need to hear or experience to change our relationship with failure?
Every Epic Fail event is different, but there was one particular moment when I realized there was something significant going on in the lives of pastors through our initiative. We held our first Epic Fail Pastors' Conference in Lansdale, PA, a gritty suburb on the north side of Philadelphia, where I live. We held it in a bar, where the food is cheap and the beer is even cheaper. Ironically, the bar is inside an old failed church building.
As we began, I asked pastors three questions: Who are you? Why are you here? What are you feeling? Complete strangers (from several different states) stood up and shared their struggles in ministry, their depression, addictions, broken dreams ,and deep wounds. There were smiles and tears, embraces and sacred silence. I remember looking at my watch. We were seventeen minutes into the start of the event.
It was at that moment I realized pastors desperately long for safe spaces to talk about the dangerous message of failure, brokenness, grace, and redemption. Something sacred and healing was beginning to take place.
While each event is different, we end each one the same. After spending a few days processing failure, rejection, and shame, we end with communion. We set the room up with round tables. On each are a few large loaves of bread, a bottle of wine, and a jug of grape juice. We tell the pastors to commune around the tables—talk, pray, share stories, listen, laugh, and cry together. We want them to linger, to be present and to know that Jesus—the Wounded Healer—is among us in our conversation.
We tell them, "Eat all the bread. Bottoms up on the wine. Finish off the grape juice." We tell them communion isn't finished until everything is gone. At each event, this time is palpable with God's Spirit—a tender, joyful, healing, undeniably sacred time together. We remember that it is Christ's 'failure' on the cross that led to ultimate victory over death, sin, brokenness and shame. It is the irony of the gospel. I get emotional even now, just reflecting on it.
Right now, leaders are reading this who feel like failures, maybe who have failed in a significant way. Can you speak to them directly for a moment?
Yes. I've sat with dozens of shipwrecked pastors over the past several years. They've poured their hearts out to me. Each story is a journey marred by pain and marked with failure. I try to do a lot of listening, because I've found it's what they need most. I assure them I refuse to give trite answers, Christian clichés or five-dollar answers to million-dollar questions. Nobody needs Band-Aids in triage.
When the opportunity is right, I share that the grace we pastors preach so passionately from the pulpit on Sundays is best experienced when it gets into our bloodstreams the rest of the week. I remind them that grace is still available, even to us pastors. Jesus' hopeful words in the Beatitudes remind us that we're blessed when the bottom falls out from under us. The first line of the Beatitudes in The Message brings such hope: "You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope; with less of you there's more of God and his rule."
When grace gets into our bloodstream, it means that we're convinced that the depth of our worth is not tied to the quality of our work. Our identity is not tied up in what we do or how well we do it, but in who we are—and more importantly, to whom we belong.
When grace gets into our bloodstream, it means that we're convinced that the depth of our worth is not tied to the quality of our work. Our identity is not tied up in what we do or how well we do it, but in who we are—and more importantly, to whom we belong. I often have to remind pastors (and myself) that Jesus won't say to us, "Well done, good and successful servant." This also means that it starts by entering into the counter-cultural and oftentimes excruciating practice of confession. Confession and forgiveness are some of the greatest ways we guard our hearts in order to keep pride or resentment from building up like plaque around our souls.
I also encourage failed leaders to seek out wise, grounded and trusted spiritual directors or pastoral mentors who have already run a large portion of the ministry marathon. Invite them into your pain. I encourage them to read everything by Eugene Peterson and Henri Nouwen, who prophetically and poetically dismantle the false North American definition of ministry success/failure and begin to construct a robust, biblically aligned theology of failure that we all need.
The words the Lord spoke to Paul are spoken to us as leaders, too: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
Paul Pastor is associate editor of Leadership Journal and PARSE.
