A friend told me recently about a new church his denomination tried to start a couple of years ago. Located in a small midwestern town, the church got off to a great start. Then one Sunday, early in the second year, people arrived to find their old, hand-me-down pews replaced by padded stacking chairs, a surprise gift from an anonymous donor. As everyone filed into the building, the pastor stood by the door beaming. He knew they would be thrilled with the change, and he wanted to catch their expressions as they came in.
Unfortunately, they weren't thrilled. They were surprised, startled, and upset. Within a few weeks, half the congregation left to form another church-one where they could worship God as he commanded, in pews rather than chairs.
That story reminded me of the advice of an old farmer. "Churches are a lot like horses," he said. "They don't like to be startled or surprised. It causes deviant behavior."
Like most pastors, I learned early in my ministry that our fiercest battles are seldom fought over theology. More often than not, they are fought over change, sometimes even the slightest change.
I remember well a phone call I received, not long after my arrival at North Coast, from a key lay leader. He was calling to say his family was leaving the church, upset over all the changes I was making.
When I asked for specifics, I found I had committed two unpardonable sins: I had failed to schedule a third annual "All-Church New Year's Eve Party," and I had stopped using a closing hymn at the end of our services.
I hadn't thought of either change as significant. They both happened more by accident than design. But for some reason they startled and surprised my caller. His "deviant behavior" was just what the old farmer had predicted.
There was a time when such petty and negative responses to change left me feeling angry and cynical about the local church. But thanks to study of what is known as organizational culture, I've come to realize Christians aren't the only ones who respond negatively to change. It is a phenomenon found among all groups; it's more of a sociological problem than a spiritual problem.
While this pops my dreams of "change without conflict," all isn't lost. There is still much that can be done to limit conflict and overcome resistance to change.
Over the years, I've used a process that has served me well. Whether the change affected only a few people or an entire congregation, these steps have smoothed the way for change and significantly decreased the instances of deviant behavior.
Test the Waters
The first thing I do with a new idea is try to find out, ahead of time, how people will react should the change actually take place.
Our government leaders are masters at this. Long before making a major proposal, they leak a rough sketch of their idea or proposed legislation. Then they stand back and analyze the evening news reports and the response of their constituents.
From this, they know where to go next. Was the idea vehemently rejected? Or widely praised? What points did opponents attack? Which criticisms were legitimate, and which were obviously partisan? And most important, what changes are needed before making the proposal official?
I follow the same course. I start by asking a cross section of our people-board members, unofficial power brokers, and the average man or woman in the pew-what they think of an idea or possible change. For instance, I might ask their opinion of moving across town, adding a new staff member, or changing the church logo. Whether the change is major or insignificant, I try to get a reading on their reaction.
I've found small social settings work the best for this. Larger groups tend to silence introverts and inhibit candidness, while formal settings or full-blown presentations of an idea cause most people to assume I'm asking for their approval of a "proposal" rather than their opinion of an idea.
At this stage, I don't want approval or disapproval. I'm not trying to gather a coalition for the idea. All I want is a reading on their initial reaction to the basic idea.
Testing the waters provides me with invaluable information. First, it lets me know if my dissatisfaction with the status quo is shared by others. If not, it's time to slow down and help them to see the need. Either that, or be prepared to face some rather deviant behavior from those who don't yet agree that changes are needed.
Second, testing the waters tells me what changes not to make. For instance, when our church was founded, it was named for the city in which we originally met. When we moved to a nearby city, everyone agreed the name needed to be changed.
At that time, a number of us also wanted to drop the denominational tag, replacing it with a postscript stating our affiliation. We felt the tag was more of a hindrance than an asset, since most people on the West Coast have no idea what Evangelical Free Church represents. Despite the fact that Chuck Swindoll's ministry is just one hundred miles up the road, to this day I'm asked if we are a cult, a new religion, Pentecostals, or fundamentalists, or if we simply don't take offerings!
Most people seemed to like dropping the denominational label. But testing the waters revealed strong opposition by a couple of key lay leaders, enough to create a major conflict.
I decided to drop the issue. A test of the waters had shown me the price I would have to pay for the change. It was a price I was unwilling to pay.
Finally, testing the waters lets me know, ahead of time, what aspects of a proposed change will cause the most resistance and who the resisters are most likely to be. It prepares me for the next step in the process.
Listen and Respond to Resisters
People who resist our ideas are sometimes labeled adversaries. It's usually a case of mistaken identity.
Rather than view them as enemies to be overcome, I prefer to see them as advisers. They are, in fact, a necessary link in the process of transforming a good idea into a great idea. Their resistance is not always a nuisance; it's useful. Like pain in the body, it lets me know something is out of adjustment.
The first thing I learn by listening to resisters is where things are most likely to go wrong once the change is in place. Resisters have an uncanny ability to point out all the potential flaws within a proposal. They are superb at finding possible weaknesses and hidden defects within a plan. After all, these people are motivated! But listening to them, I discover the obstacles ahead of time, and thus I can make the change much less traumatic for everyone.
When we decided a few years ago to make home fellowships the axis around which our ministry would revolve, we were launching into what was, for us, relatively uncharted water. Though it was an excellent and workable concept, there were many bugs to be worked out of the actual system, and the resisters found them immediately. Because they didn't like the plan in the first place, they were quick to point out a host of potential hazards.
They feared being stuck in geographical groupings where they would share little in common except neighborhood. They worried about studies that would be nothing but a sharing of ignorance, fretted over sharing exercises that were too threatening, and rebelled against the idea of highly restrictive group covenants or contracts. In short, they set an agenda of things for us to work on.
Our responding to their concerns from the beginning didn't necessarily win their approval. But we did put together a much more acceptable program that avoided many potential shortcomings.
The second thing I learn by listening to resisters is what hidden psychological barriers must be overcome. Just because a change or innovation is a good idea is no guarantee the average member will buy it.
For instance, when microwave ovens first came onto the scene, their sales were limited because people weren't using them to cook meat. The problem wasn't technological; it was psychological. Most people simply didn't consider meat adequately cooked if it wasn't the familiar brown color on the outside. By listening to the complaints of the resisters (those who weren't buying the new ovens), the manufacturers were able to identify and remove this psychological barrier. They put browning elements in the ovens. Bingo! Sales increased dramatically.
While some pastors resist the role of salesperson, I have accepted it as a necessary part of my job as a leader. And like any good leader, I want to know what areas of resistance are most likely to arise so I can tailor my presentation to address and overcome them. If I am convinced God wants a change made, or that a new program will bring great spiritual benefit to our people, then I have no qualms about trying to sell the idea. If some "browning elements" are needed, so be it.
To figure out where those psychological barriers are, I ask myself two questions.
1. Are the resisters objecting to the proposal or the presenter? Pious-sounding objections can be used to cover up the real source of resistance-a lack of trust in the one making the proposal. A newly arrived pastor often faces this, particularly when the church has a history of short pastorates. Pastors feuding with their board or a particular member are also likely to find the resistance to their suggestions centers more on them than on the proposal itself. When this happens, it is a waste of time to discuss the issues. Instead, the focus needs to be on building trust, restoring the broken relationships, or finding someone else to champion the idea.
2. Are the resisters objecting to the proposal or to the way it was presented? The most common presentation problem is the use of offensive language-not swear words, but those loaded terms and phrases that carry a negative connotation to the listeners but not necessarily to the speaker.
While an assistant pastor, I suggested an internship program to disciple those planning to go into full-time ministry. Since our church was near a seminary and a couple of Christian schools, I figured the idea would go over big. It didn't. The board rejected it without discussion.
When I sought to understand the reasons for their resistance, I discovered my predecessor had been fired for focusing his ministry on a small group of "disciples" at the expense of everyone else. As a result, words like intern and discipleship conjured up images of favoritism. By using these terms in my proposal, I had unwittingly torpedoed my own idea. The board wasn't against training people for future ministry; they opposed the abuses of the past.
So I reframed the proposal as a Vocational Ministry Training Program, spelled out some time limitations, and left the rest of the program virtually untouched. Within a month, I had not only my program (by unanimous consent) but twice the funding I'd requested.
Listening and responding to resistance always pays high dividends. While I don't give every critic veto power over potential changes, I do assume my critics are for the most part honest and intelligent people who are concerned with different issues and problems. By carefully listening to their objections, I invariably end up with a much better idea.
Yet this by itself doesn't guarantee congregational acceptance. I still need to build a solid support base for the idea, well before presenting it to the entire group. If not, the group's natural organizational resistance will sabotage the changes.
Sell Individuals before Groups
One of the most basic yet often-ignored rules of group persuasion is to sell individuals before groups. The most painful illustration of ignoring this principle I've seen involved a long-range-planning committee. After they worked nearly two years, a congregational meeting was held to review their findings and proposals. The presentation was beautifully done; their proposals were excellent. But the congregation rejected their plans outright. The pastor and committee members were devastated. They had assumed a clear presentation of an excellent idea would result in congregational approval. They were wrong.
Sadly, the fatal blow to their program was self-inflicted. By presenting the proposal to the entire church first, they forced people to go public with their initial reactions. This practically guaranteed rejection, for two reasons. First, initial responses to change are often negative. Second, public responses are usually permanent.
When an idea is presented to an entire group, everyone's opinion instantly becomes a matter of public record, and public stands are hard to change. While people often talk themselves into an idea they initially rejected, they seldom do so after they've gone public with their opinions. Selling an idea to individuals before presenting it to the entire group makes it easier for people to change their minds.
Another reason for first selling individuals on the idea is that most people won't adopt a new idea until they see others have bought in. Those who study the process of change inform us that only about fifteen percent will adopt a new idea without first knowing who else is supporting it.
I need to sell enough individuals to give an idea credibility before I attempt to sell it to the entire group. This is true whether the entire group is a congregation, a board, or a committee.
Those people on the long-range-planning committee assumed the only question being asked was, "Is this a good idea?" They failed to realize that most people also wanted to know, "Who else is for it?" Since they couldn't point to anyone but themselves, the idea was considered suspect. Selling some individuals before the meeting would have given the idea credibility. It would have removed for some the difficulty of standing alone for a new idea.
But even after adapting a change to the criticism of its resisters and gathering a coalition of supporters, don't expect all resistance to melt away. While these measures go a long way toward removing unnecessary obstacles, they don't remove them all. In reality, some people will be against every change-the sort of folks who would vote against the Second Coming if given a chance.
Faced with their opposition, I move into the last phase of the change process.
Lead Boldly
By leading boldly, 1 don't mean running roughshod over those who disagree with me. I do mean stepping forward to champion a cause: clearly making my views known and doing everything I can to persuade the holdouts to follow.
For many of us, this type of leadership doesn't come easily. It runs counter to our image of pastor as gentle shepherd. It forces people to act or react. At times, it can mean offending a dear saint or a longtime supporter, or losing a key family.
Yet bold leadership is needed, or inertia will restrain necessary changes. Fear of upsetting a few can allow a handful of critics to hold off an army of supporters. The resulting ministry resembles a bus with one accelerator and sixty sets of brakes.
Just how bold to be depends on a variety of factors. First, there is the issue of God's will. The clearer I sense his leading, the bolder I am willing to be. But few change issues are all that black and white. I can think of only a few times in fourteen years of ministry when I've pulled out the heavy artillery and publicly stated, "I feel God wants us to do this."
A second consideration is the price I will have to pay for boldly championing the cause. Determining that is the purpose of testing the waters. If the change is overpriced, bold leadership isn't a sign of valor; it's a sign of stupidity.
A third question I ask myself is, Whom will we lose? Notice I don't ask if we will lose some people, but which ones. No ministry can keep everybody happy. Losing some folks to the church down the street is unavoidable. The only question is: Who will they be?
When we made a commitment to a new style of worship music a few years ago, it didn't sit well with a few of our old-timers. Prior to making the change, we were losing a lot of visitors who didn't relate to the more traditional style. Many of these folks were outstanding Christians, the type of people we needed if we were going to expand our ministry. But even more significant, we weren't keeping the new Christians and non-Christians we were targeting.
There came a time when I had to ask myself, Whom do I want to lose? I decided I didn't want to keep losing the people we were then losing. So I championed the change, and sure enough, we lost a few old-time families. But each time one family left, it was quickly replaced by three or four new ones who were looking for what we now had.
The final question I ask before pushing for a major change is, How long do I plan to be around after the changes are made? If the answer is "not long," I don't make the sort of changes that demand bold leadership.
A friend accepted a call to a small, struggling suburban church a few years ago. While the church had potential, it wasn't going to go anywhere without some major changes. He began to make those changes. He altered the structure of the service, changed the constitution, adapted the facility, and accomplished a host of other modifications. Though difficult, and costly in the loss of a few families, the changes allowed the church to finally begin to grow.
The only problem was that he didn't stay long enough to firmly establish the changes. Not long after they were made, he left. When he returned to visit two years later, he was surprised to find most of his changes had been reversed. The service, atmosphere, and low attendance were strikingly similar to what he had encountered when he first came.
Change is always difficult, no matter how great the gains might be. Why put a body into the disequilibrium that comes with change if we aren't going to be around to help steady it? Why risk driving away some key old-timers if we aren't going to remain to help the new folks gain a sense of ownership? Leading boldly requires staying.
During the past seven years, our church has taken a new name, moved to a different location, shifted its program emphasis, changed its board structure, and altered its worship style. Yet these changes have been accomplished largely without conflicts and deviant behavior.
Recently we went so far as to replace our Sunday evening service with home Bible studies. Not long after we dropped the evening service, a young father came to me.
"I grew up in a church where every change was a major battle," he said. "So when I first heard what you were proposing, I was afraid of what could happen. But I watched, and nothing did. There was no wrangling. I still can't believe how easily people accepted the change."
Sure it was easy. At least I'm glad he sees it that way.
Larry W. Osborne is pastor of North Coast Evangelical Free Church in Oceanside, California.
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