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Our group didn't do so well with those looking for psychoanalysis. I read Gary Collins, Jay Adams, and every other counseling expert I could find, but I ended up referring the troubled souls to local ministers who had doctorates in counseling. The troubled souls merely drifted through in their search for a couch.
We did better with the traveling heretics. If you measure success by the ability to drown dissonant voices, we were most impressive.
One night several cultists dropped in and wanted to challenge me on two or three basics of orthodoxy. For once I was glad I'd cloned myself among the members of the group. I just sat back and listened as two of the guys I'd been meeting for breakfast over a systematic theology text soundly out-debated the outsiders. The nonnegotiables of orthodoxy were well defended without me opening my mouth. If I hadn't done much else right, at least I'd developed a couple of better-than-average apologists for the faith.
An Informal Institution
The nonchurchy, spontaneous atmosphere of our group was its most basic appeal. It was my fault we lost it. In an effort to develop cohesion and identity, we developed too many trappings of an institution.
One of my early mistakes was bringing in outside speakers once a month. I thought it would give us access to the best possible teaching. But attendance dropped on those nights, the group voting their disapproval by their absence. Those who came were hesitant to open up with questions or comments.
Another mistake was trying to give the group a name. Being identified with a catchy name and logo would draw us closer, I thought, but the group saw the innovation as churchiness. They continued to call our group simply "the Bible study."
The whole group was at fault for yet another feature: we behaved like jealous lovers when one of our number left for another activity or ministry. The heart of institutionalism is demanding self-interested loyalty, which should never characterize Christians, whose only justifiable loyalty is their allegiance to Christ. We would never say so, but we began feeling ours was the best, if not the only, game in town. We forgot our purposes of discipleship, evangelism, and Bible knowledge. We just wanted to preserve our group.
We even had a liturgy of sorts. We ate junk food at a certain time, prayed at a certain time, shared, and of course, I taught—all in proper order. We lost our initial spontaneity and became so rigid that visitors felt like outsiders and didn't come back. We no longer offered the cozy supplement to the church; we had become our own church.
The End of Our Beginning
I once heard J. Vernon McGee say something to the effect that most organizations get started because there's a real need that ought to be met, but many groups perpetuate themselves long after the goals have been met. They outlive their usefulness.
From the beginning I viewed the Bible study as a temporary work that would meet some needs, fill a gap, and then pass away when no longer needed. I often thought of Amos the prophet, who rose from obscurity to speak the words God gave him and then, his mission completed, had enough sense to shut up and go back to his herds. I vowed I would be like Amos and disband the small group when my prophetic mission was accomplished.
Eventually came the day when I felt the Bible study had outlived its purpose. Most of the people were in churches that, for the most part, met their needs, and the few who hadn't yet joined organized congregations were spiritually strong enough to survive without the weekly spoon feeding. Of course, there were a few who relied on the group heavily—too heavily, I thought. I suspected they would grow more if made to fend for themselves.
