Pastors

WHAT I LEARNED FROM MORDECAI HAM

Mark Coppenger

Ever since I heard TV’s Jim Rockford call a mobster’s henchman a “pet squirrel,” I’ve had a hard time shaking the expression. Headed to seminary, I wondered whether I might one day become some congregation’s pet squirrel. Now, four years into my first pastorate, the threat still seems genuine.

Throughout seminary, in books, and from conferences to conversations, I’ve been cautioned to go easy-that boldness and bluntness are imprudent, or immoral. There’s always pressure to lighten up.

If darling Missy wants to marry a thrice-divorced avowed bisexual, then the pastor should comply, since to turn his back on their union would mean that he “isn’t loving” and “couldn’t minister to them later.” The furor raised if he doesn’t would underscore the maxims that “You have to be careful not to get too far out in front of your troops, or they’ll mistake you for the enemy and start shooting” and “You can’t lead them if you no longer work there.” You know the words.

Which brings me to Mordecai Ham.

I’d always heard of him as the preacher to whose invitation Billy Graham walked the aisle. I figured him to be a rawboned, disheveled original-what with a name like Mordecai-whose only claim to fame was Graham’s response to his preaching. But what did I know?

Rugged revivalist

In the midst of my study of Arkansas Baptist revivals, I found that Ham had captured the imagination of two of our state’s major cities in 1933. He was conventional and sleek in appearance and gifted in communicating to professionals. Under his preaching during the first fifty years of this century, hundreds of thousands made fresh commitments to Christ.

But a pet squirrel he was not. The accounts of Ham’s boldness remind me that I represent a shocking Lord, and woe to me if I restrict myself to the salons of diplomacy.

When Ham emerged as an evangelist from Kentucky at the turn of the century, he had a background in business and the study of law. From the start, his approach was zealous and blunt. He disdained the common practice of passing the afternoons swapping yarns with the local saints at revival sites. Instead, he insisted that he be taken to the worst sinners in the community.

One hid in a field, but Ham tracked him to a corn shock. The old fellow, a notorious infidel, anxiously asked the revivalist his intentions. Ham said that he was going to ask God to kill him. When the man protested, Ham observed that that shouldn’t bother him since he didn’t believe in God. But if there were one, then death would be appropriate for one who’d poisoned his family’s spiritual prospects.

The lost man begged Ham not to pray that, so Ham relented and volunteered to pray instead for his salvation. At the final meeting in that town, Ham baptized the man and his family.

Talk about buttonholing! But God honored it. And I feel not the least superior to Ham for my more refined tendencies.

Hostility to Ham

Delicacy consistently gave way to urgency in Ham’s approach. He was fond of saying that God didn’t get battleship material from rose gardens, that God’s true servants had to be put through the fire. And he was no stranger to fire. His life was threatened, and his reputation was under constant attack. Modernists called him a moron. The liquor interest sent court stenographers to his meetings in an attempt to catch him in an ill-chosen phrase. People almost tarred and feathered him in San Benito, Texas, in 1918, but the mayor called for nearby troops to intervene. On another day, a hog and ram were skinned for a mock funeral in honor of Mordecai and his song leader, William Ramsey.

Let’s be fair. Ham did go out of his way to provoke the liquor crowd. He’d load a banner-decorated trolley with kids, run this “gospel car” past saloons, and have his folks sing, “If you only loved your children more, you wouldn’t drink your rum.”

With the demise of trolleys, he organized “gospel parades,” with signs, singers, and up to two thousand cars. Several times he rented an old, horse-drawn hearse and prominently displayed a skeleton in it. As the hearse passed a tavern and the patrons emerged for a look, a hidden announcer broadcast, “Boys, once I had a big time too, but look where I am now. You’ll be joining me soon; better get right with God.”

Caustic Christianity

In a typical series of meetings, sometimes lasting for months at one site, Ham defined sin, named the spiritual foes, showed Jesus’ trial to be a legal travesty, explored the afterlife, exalted faith and renewal, condemned the age, analyzed our predicament, shamed the slack, explained deliverance, demanded discipleship, and offered the love of God.

One Texan was so struck by the fact that God could and would save him, even though he’d killed four men, that he jumped to his feet during a 1910 sermon and shouted, “Saved! Saved! Saved!” Jack Scofield, the musician for that revival, was so taken by this joyful declaration that he penned the popular hymn by that title the next afternoon.

Ham didn’t shrink from caustic expression. He spoke of “modernistic rot” and marveled that “a man who could talk so much like an ass” should express surprise that Balaam’s ass talked like a man. He castigated lodge “worship” and warned that members would find only a “silent god” in their hour of spiritual need. He scolded folks for wanting the minister to say nice things at loved ones’ funerals, even if he had to lie.

Current wisdom holds that this talk is counterproductive. This may be true, but Ham’s record offers evidence of astounding productivity. To the critics who claimed that he used a sledgehammer to pound church members, Ham retorted that every time he knocked a “halfway Christian” out of the doorway, he got a sinner in. These halfway folks, he explained, “hold onto the church with one hand while they play with the toys of this world with the other.” In one sense, Ham had no use for these folks. But in a deeper sense, he devoted his life to their correction.

A stimulant, not a model

I asked my seminary preaching prof if he had ever heard Ham. Yes, he had, down in Texas. He said it was a sweaty performance with handkerchief in full use.

I’m not particularly troubled by this, for though I do not myself match the style, it seems to me that impassioned speech and gesture are appropriate for life-or-death matters. I recall the bluegrass performances of Earl Scruggs and Bill Monroe and their bands. The incongruity of flying fingers and deadpan faces was fun to watch. But it seems to me there’s also an incongruity in the studious delivery of soul-upheaving words. Ham had no place for such incongruity in the pulpit.

Ham was a pastor for a time at Oklahoma City’s First Baptist Church, but he’s not exactly a pastor’s model. It’s one thing to blaze prophetically through a town and another to abide for years as Christ’s vicar, from hospital bedside to pulpit to marriage retreat.

But the gap is not so great as many suppose. And a pastor without a fair measure of Ham’s candor and flame is no model of Christ for his people.

When Disney rereleased Song of the South in the seventies, I went to the theater in happy anticipation of the pleasure I’d found when I first saw it. But bless the old film’s heart, it didn’t age well. I winced at the racial stereotypes and Anglo arrogance woven into the Uncle Remus story.

Well, some of Ham’s material is also pretty embarrassing today. Three weeks into his 1933 Little Rock meeting, he spun out a conspiracy theory involving international collusion of string pullers and banking interests intent upon the demoralization and subsequent overthrow of governments and institutions tolerant to Christianity. And his response to the presidential candidacy of Roman Catholic Al Smith was ill-tempered and careless.

To me, Ham is not so much a hero as a stimulant and, from time to time, an indictment. Perhaps it’s better to savor than to imitate him. But in his model of single-minded zeal, I find a strong antidote to the temptation to become innocuous and even gratifying to a world unseemly to God. It’s clear that God blessed his ministry. And it’s equally clear that we can learn from it.

-Mark Coppenger

First Baptist Church

El Dorado, Arkansas

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

The Mind Alive

Earl Palmer

Reading can stimulate growth, but only if we find the time, the right material, and a way to remember it.

Human head as a set of puzzles on the wooden background

I remember my senior-class dinner at Princeton Seminary. The speaker was George Buttrick, pastor of Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City. He challenged our class of future pastors in two directions.

First, he urged us to be with the people, to be listeners in the marketplace in order to understand what people are thinking and feeling. His second counsel seemed to contradict the first: "When you are at Coney Island, don't tell the people of the concessions on the boardwalk, about which they know; tell them of the mystery of the sea, about which they do not know."

He went on: "Don't read only what your people are reading. Read what your people are not reading."

Buttrick was impressing upon us the importance of having a mind that is alive. As well as: being physically well and spiritually committed, we need to be intellectually growing if we're to be effective Christians in the world. We need to learn the mystery of the sea if we're to explain that mystery to others or understand it ourselves.

There are various ways to keep our minds alive, but I think Buttrick was right to emphasize reading. The desire to read raises three questions, however. First, how can I find time to read about the mystery of the sea when I have so many important responsibilities among the concessions? Second, when I've found the time, what should I read? Third, if I do read, how do I remember what I read? Let me reflect on my experiences with these three problems.

The Gift of Time

Each of us has been given the gift of time and the privilege of organizing it. None of us has more time than any other.

This gift has its snares, of course, especially to those who aren't self-starters or who allow the hours of the week to become a jumble of low-quality segments. This means the first challenge confronting the person who wants to study and read seriously is to have a clear philosophy of the week.

For my life as a pastor, the key to having quality time for my family, for spiritual formation, for reading, for ministry to people, for writing, and for recreation is to have a rhythm in each week. This means first of all that I think primarily in terms of seven-day periods rather than years, months, or days. It is no mistake that the seven-day week is the most basic biblical yardstick for life measurement. "Six days thou shalt work, and one day thou shalt rest": thus is a rhythmic week ordered in the Fourth Commandment.

My goal, then, is to divide each week into a rhythm of work, rest, worship, and play: of work with people and work alone; of worship with the community of faith and worship alone; of discussion and reflection. I can take in stride high-intensity demands if there is also built into my life the opportunity for an easing up of demand. It's also true that I'm able to enjoy rest if time allotted to rest follows real work. I'm talking about a rhythm that includes fast/slow, many/few, rich/lean, exterior/interior.

I divide my week into two major parts: In the first part I place Sunday morning through Wednesday evening, which are for the large-group meetings and worship services, counseling, small-group study meetings and teaching sessions, and administration and staff obligations. Thursday and Friday are days for study, reflection, writing, and reading. Friday evening through Saturday evening is family recreation time-a time for total change of pace.

My study goal each week is to complete by Thursday noon the sermon for the coming Sunday. When this is achieved, Thursday afternoon and Friday are available for long-term study for future sermons, and also for reading and writing. I find that if the immediate teaching and preaching preparation is not completed by Thursday, that unfinished task threatens Friday and Saturday.

My week is intense at the beginning and eases toward the end. Both halves are of a better quality, it seems to me, when there is such a rhythm.

Choosing What to Read

Having scheduled the time and made it rhythmic, however we choose the segments, now the question is: What shall I read? The rhythm principle applies here, too. I want to read intensively and also extensively; light and heavy; prose and poetry; theologically and geologically.

My first intensive reading challenge is the main book of my life, the Bible. This means having access to the original-language texts and major translations of the Bible now available. It means a working library of historical background and technical books: books by J. Jeremias and F. F. Bruce on New Testament history; by Bruce Metzger on the New Testament text; theological dictionaries of the Old and New Testaments; the Brown, Driver, Briggs Hebrew lexicon; and so on. I purchase exegetical and theological commentaries on a book-by-book basis.

To keep myself intellectually involved in theological dialogue, I have pursued two reading goals. First, selected heavyweight theological books, for which I've found two ways in: through the front door or by the window-that is, from the first page onward or through its topical, biblical reference index. Both are valid entrances. Often I find that the window route has coaxed me into reading the whole book.

A second way to keep engaged with current theological discussion is through journals and magazines. I read one set of journals faithfully: Christianity Today, Christian Century, Sojourners, Wittenburg Door, Radix, Theology Today. There's another set of scholarly journals I try to catch up on each time I visit a seminary library.

Another kind of reading has also been rewarding. There are several authors with whom I have developed a special sort of friendship (they do not know me, but I know them). I am trying to read all they have written. They aren't masters of my mind, because I don't always agree with what they write; they're more like companions who especially challenge me and encourage my pilgrimage as a Christian. They are my mentors. I feel I understand how they think and how they approach the serious questions. I not only read these writers, but I also reread them-the real test of a book.

Still other books I need because they open up implications of faith I must pursue. I'm thinking of books on the world family, economics, politics, and psychology; books that demonstrate communication skills; books on the arts and music; books on Christian apologetics.

Each of us also has special interests, and our reading should accompany us into these. Since my college days as a political science student, for example, I have been vitally interested in political issues, so I subscribe to Foreign Affairs and The Christian Science Monitor.

How to Remember

Now comes the tough third question: How can I ever keep track of what I read and remember what needs to be remembered?

For me the answer begins with the way I see the study task of my ministry. Is the pastor a collector, an assembler of the conclusions of others, or is the pastor a scholar who studies toward the goal of creative contribution?

The second model is the harder but by far the more rewarding. All my reading is a vital part of the total research task that goes into a sermon or a teaching assignment. My goal as a teacher and preacher is to present the results of original hard work on the text. Since this is so, holding on to the discoveries from reading is essential.

My method is not complicated. I have found that to remember what I've read, I must read carefully and, therefore, slowly. I take notes in the book or on a separate page, or I make coded marks in the margins of the book. I don't skim or speed-read important books. At the ends of chapters, I ask myself to recount from memory the major arguments of the chapter.

When I've found an unusually impressive book, I offer a small-group seminar on it. This is another way to study a book creatively, as well as to see it through the eyes of other people.

A book is a friend, and it is best remembered when we have respect for it. When I quote from authors in a sermon, my approach is to quote few but long. This means allowing the quotation to speak from its own setting; it means reading enough so the author is really heard and not used simply to focus on what I'm saying. This approach involves more work for me homiletically in establishing the context for the quotation, but it also has the benefit of encouraging listeners to read that author for themselves.

Describing the Mystery of the Sea

As a pastor, I stand in a long and good tradition of learning and of concern for truth. Books have their unique part to play in this lifelong obedience to truth. Electronic media, TV, and films play an increasingly influential part in human communication, but when it comes to the image building of that greatest of all collectors of dreams and ideas-the human mind-there is still nothing to match a book read aloud.

In The Silver Chair, C. S. Lewis described Jill's encounter with the lion Aslan: "The voice was not like a man's. It was deeper, wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a different way." No TV set is able to capture the vast features of that golden lion quite so wonderfully as the human imagination set in motion by the words of a book.

The Book and books make it possible for us to describe the mystery of the sea.

Adapted by permission of InterVarsity Press from The 24-Hour Christian, c 1987 by Earl Palmer

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

LEADERSHIP BIBLIOGRAPHY

Robert Boyd Munger

Spiritual vitality describes Bob Munger, and these are some of the books that fed his faith. Now chaplain to the faculty at Fuller Theological Seminary, he has spent over half a century in ministry and sending others into the ministry. His booklet My Heart, Christ’s Home has become a devotional classic.

Knowing God by J. I. Packer, InterVarsity, 1973

This book provides an excellent introduction to the biblical truth needed to anchor a vital faith. It approaches theology from the aspect of knowing God, not just knowing about God.

I find it good devotional reading, but it has also been particularly good as a book to recommend to students ready to take on a deeper understanding of faith. They have rated it well.

Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan, Moody, 1984

This one’s a classic for a reason. I find it so practical. Obviously Bunyan had suffered spiritually and personally, and he was able to shed light on all kinds of problems.

One example is the dungeon in which Pilgrim finds himself beaten by doubts and hopelessness. I’ve been there! But both of us have the key: trust. I return to this book time and again.

Basic Christianity by John R. W. Stott, Eerdmans, 1957

I never fail to be helped by anything Stott writes, and this early book is one of his best. It gave me such a rational, biblical orientation to the knowledge of Christ. I have often given away this book to people seeking answers.

Other books by Stott, such as The Cross of Christ (Intervarsity, 1986) and The Sermon on the Mount (Intervarsity, 1987), are also gems. In one field after another, Stott feeds me with his insight.

The Christbook by Frederick Dale Brunner, Word, 1987

I worked through this commentary on the first twelve chapters of Matthew a few pages at a time for nearly six months. It is a rich book-detailed, full of the wonder and power and proper glory of Jesus Christ. Brunner brings a full range of theology from Augustine to the present. Had this Christocentric book been available earlier in my ministry, I would have preached out of it often.

Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis, Macmillan, 1982

What list could be complete without Lewis? Although Mere Christianity and his other writings have greatly influenced me, right after World War II I was intrigued by how in Screwtape Letters Lewis handled the subject of Satan with such biblical insight and human sensitivity. This book opened to me the wealth of material available from this masterful composer of the English language.

Confession: The Road to Forgiveness by Andrew Murray Whitaker, 1983

Over the years, I keep discovering books by Andrew Murray that speak to my heart. This one about Psalm 51 tells of joy after confession. This isn’t a superficial book. He speaks of complete brokenness that sees sin as God does. But he also writes of forgiveness so complete that it’s as though the sin never happened. His insights help me keep faith lively in spite of my shortcomings.

The Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster, Harper & Row, 1978

I like to teach from this book because it takes me beyond where I am. As I learn from Foster, he helps me use what I am learning. He covers the broad field of devotional life in this deepest, widest, and best-written guide of our time.

The Word Became Flesh by E. Stanley Jones, Abingdon, 1979

In 1954 in Meramon, South India, I sat under palm branches in a dry creekbed with fifty thousand others hearing E. Stanley Jones preach. Bob Pierce, founder of World Vision, was there but a little wary of Jones’s reputation. But he told me, “I had to climb down off my judgmental throne when every morning I realized he was reading his Bible from 4:30 to 6:30.”

This is one of the best available devotional books. His grasp of the subject and its application challenges me to get up and do something.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

LIFE-SHAPING BOOKS

Earl Palmer

If I were to choose the most influential books in my intellectual and spiritual pilgrimage, after the Bible, my list would look like this:

Blaise Pascal, Pensees. Here is the sheer thrill of a mind alive to the relevance of Jesus Christ.

John Calvin, Institutes. His impressive grasp of the large outline of the gospel’s meaning makes Calvin exciting.

Martin Luther, Lectures on Romans. As fresh and electric today as in the sixteenth century.

Karl Barth. Begin with Dogmatics in Outline. I deeply appreciate his boldness and serious intention to hear and obey the biblical text. He is the theologian’s theologian.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Begin with Cost of Discipleship. He called out to me to decide once and for all about what matters most in my life.

C. S. Lewis. Begin with The Chronicles of Narnia. I owe so much to C. S. Lewis, especially the wonderful mixture of the surprise and goodness of God.

G. K. Chesterton. Begin with The Everlasting Man and Orthodoxy. I love his humor and ability to stir up my imagination.

J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings. How can anyone miss out on the adventures of Frodo and Sam Gamgee?

Helmut Thielicke. Begin with How the World Began. I learned about clearness in preaching from Thielicke.

Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Boris Pasternak, Alexander Solzhenitsyn. These Russian writers have stirred me emotionally and spiritually more than all other novelists.

T. S. Eliot, W. H. Auden, Robert Frost. These poets have given me a deep respect for words.

Mark Twain and Robert Benchley for their rich humor and insight into personality.

Paul Tournier for his psychological wisdom and evenhandedness. Try to find his book Secrets.

The greatest novel I ever read is either Crime and Punishment or The Brothers Karamazov, both by Dostoyevsky. The most impressive recent novels are Herman Wouk’s Winds of War and War and Remembrance.

The most helpful book about the Christian faith has been Karl Barth’s Dogmatics in Outline.

The most persuasive case for the Christian life was C. S. Lewis’s Screwtape Letters.

The most impressive biographies have been Karl Barth, by Eberhard Busch, and William Borden, by Mrs. Howard Taylor.

-Earl Palmer

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

PEOPLE IN PRINT

Mark Galli

Why People Do What They Do

Understanding People by Lawrence Crabb, Zondervan, $12.95

Reviewed by Mark Coppenger, pastor, First Baptist Church, El Dorado, Arkansas

In one of the Marx brothers’ movies, Groucho poses as a physician. A patient comes in, raises his arm, and says, “Doc, it hurts when I do this.”

Groucho immediately responds, “Then don’t do that. That’ll be ten dollars.”

Lawrence Crabb, in Understanding People, urges Christian counselors to go beyond this level of “Cut it out” and “Chin up.” He wants us to get to the whys of anorexia nervosa, depression, and homosexuality. He gives Freud some credit for taking us inside the human psyche, but he takes pains to distance himself from Freud, Rogers, and other secularists who ignore or defy the Bible.

This book attempts to show how the Bible provides the framework for tackling all but organically based psychological problems. While his best-selling book Inside Out presents his principles at the popular level, Crabb said in an interview that he sees this volume as his foundational and scholarly work.

Understanding People has three main divisions. The first is an essay in epistemology, the study of what we can know and how we can know it. Crabb shows why the maxim “All truth is God’s truth” can be treacherous: in putting general and special revelation side by side, we’re tempted to sell the Bible short when it conflicts with current wisdom.

The second division takes a hard look at how we tick, or fail to tick, in accordance with our Creator’s designs.

The third division is by far the smallest. It closes the book with a word on love, the fruit of all Crabb prescribes.

If the Bible is our source book, what does it say? It doesn’t address all our troubles directly; there’s nothing specific, for instance, on bulimia or the cause of drunkenness. Thus, the preacher who tracks through Bible books with pure exegesis is going to leave gaps precisely where a lot of folks are despairing.

Crabb’s answer is to move to the level of doctrinal categories, the subjects you’d find in the table of contents for a biblical theology text. He expresses his approach in this formula: “Biblical Categories x Life’s Observations x Reflection = Biblical Understanding.”

We know the doctrinal categories in that equation, but what about “Life’s Observations”? Crabb explains that it takes insight to realize, for example, that a man who exposes himself is gratified when his “audience” is shocked or horrified. As we reflect on such findings within a scriptural framework, we achieve the understanding we need to help him change.

Thus armed, we’re able to address such real-life questions as “How do I cope with the awful fact that my father was too weak ever to love me?” or “How do I stop worrying about money?”

Crabb argues that people have a deep longing for acceptance and impact. We’re thirsty. But in our natural state we’re also fools, and in our foolishness we determine to slake our thirst apart from God.

The means people use to slake life’s thirst are mostly broken cisterns. But as long as people keep moving from one to the other, they may not notice that none of them holds water. After all, they take a while to drain.

Eventually, however, shyness, bluster, shopping, pornography, sociability, etc. wears thin, and in that moment, people may well discover their need. Three agents of exposure stand ready to help: the Word of God, the Spirit of God, and the people of God. The work of soul searching and conviction gets underway, and as the poster says, “The truth shall make you free, but first it will make you miserable.”

If the hurting receive the truth, their illusion of independence gives way to a healthy sense of helplessness. And in Christ they find the love and significance for which they’ve thirsted. They then move from destructive to constructive emotions and find themselves on the road to maturity.

Thus, the Christian counselor has some preliminary work to do beneath the water line. He must probe for pain and the presence of defiance strategies. Once he exposes these, he’s in a position to show a more perfect way.

I could have wished for a clearer line between the character of the lost person and that of the regenerate. Are there two corresponding ways to counsel, or is the approach essentially the same for both? Crabb touched on these matters, but I came away wanting more.

When I asked Crabb for examples of his notions at work in a church setting, he mentioned the efforts of Kevin Huggins, former chaplain to Grace College and now associate pastor of The Chapel in Akron, Ohio. In an article he sent me, Huggins presents the case of a young woman to show how the acknowledgment of painful memories can bring life through a sharpened sense of dependency on God. Woefully mistreated as a child, “Lorraine” fashioned stories of her parents’ greatness, suppressed her pain at their lack of love for her, and suffered frequent nightmares about the future.

But as she frankly confronted her disappointments and abandoned her attempts to curry her parents’ favor, she was driven to rest in God. She began to heal as she left behind the broken cisterns of fantasizing and posturing.

Crabb’s insights have helped me, too. His strong focus on dependency has refreshed my ministry. It’s easy for me to slip into thinking that once I master the basic skills of the pastorate, I’ll be equipped to succeed. But the pastor who sees himself as a consummate professional rather than a desperately needy servant, standing before a uniquely sufficient God, has missed the essence of ministry. The realization of our total dependence on God must dawn daily on us all.

Unique Challenges of the Larger Church

The Senior Minister by Lyle Schaller, Abingdon, $10.95

Reviewed by Keith Meyer, pastor, Maple Grove Evangelical Free Church, Maple Grove, Minnesota

At some point in seminary, we all probably heard the advice concerning a new pastorate: “Don’t make any changes for at least a year. Get to know the people and their vision for the church.”

That’s good advice for pastoring a smaller church. After ten years of pastoring two large churches, however, I have found it to be bad advice for the senior minister of a big congregation. And since reading Lyle Schaller’s The Senior Minister, I am relieved to find I’m not alone in that opinion. Changes are often needed at a large church, and the people expect the new senior minister to initiate them, quickly.

Schaller writes from 28 years of consultations with ministers of multi-staff churches. This book is in the form of a story about Pastor and Mrs. Donald Johnson at First Church, a church that at one time had 500 in morning worship but has now declined to just under 200. He uses Don’s experiences and conversations with other staff members, laity, and other senior ministers to show us the lessons a senior minister will need to learn or, in many cases, unlearn.

The first lesson concerns that critical first year of ministry. In his initial pastorate, Don had followed the conventional wisdom. But his experience with growth there had taught him to be an initiating leader. Now he challenges the trustees of First Church to get on with a stalled remodeling of the fellowship hall, and he does it at his first meeting with them. This causes one trustee to comment, “Well, it looks as if we’re about to begin a new era.” Another says, “If you’re referring to Pastor Johnson’s willingness to confront the issues head on, I say it’s about time.”

Another lesson concerns providing a good ministry performance rather than spending a lot of time on one-to-one relationships. Schaller told me in an interview that he thought a pastor could build a church up to no more than 150 based on cultivating one-to-one relationships. With a staff helping develop those relationships, a church could possibly reach 250.

But the Baby Boom generation wants a performance-oriented church that offers quality and specialized programming. He compared the smaller church to a family-owned grocery store and the larger church to the suburban supermarket. Baby Boomers want the supermarket-style church, he said.

Schaller also has chapters on the management style of the senior pastor with his staff, the need for a quality music program, the Sunday morning service, women’s ministry, the Christian education program, aggressive building, and fund raising. I found his insights scratch where I itch as a senior pastor.

For example, Schaller speaks of the trade off between “getting it done” and “getting along” in staff management. If I have accomplished what I wanted in our staff meeting, I feel a need to get on with my own work. But Schaller told me staff people will probably want to spend more time “just being together and getting to know each other.” Schaller says you can’t have it both ways. You focus either on getting things done or on getting along. He feels members in a large church prefer the staff to get it done. How much they enjoy each other is a secondary concern.

Schaller also suggests using part-time staff, who give more “bang for the buck.” They fit the large-church trend to utilize gifted lay help in the ministry, too; full-time staff tend to take the place of lay help.

I will be putting into practice Schaller’s idea of a “Pastor’s Class” for assimilating and relating to newcomers. As I orient them in that setting to my style and vision, they can get to know me, and I won’t have to visit each of their homes. This fits with Schaller’s advice that a senior minister must relate to groups more than to individuals.

Schaller said he uses the novelistic style in this book because people prefer to read stories, not lists. He also uses the characters’ dialogue to present controversial topics. For example, two senior ministers talk about their alienation from their denominational leaders and program.

“I used to go to our regional convention every year,” one says. “About a year after I became a senior minister, I cut that out of my schedule. Now I show up . . . for a day or so. Their agenda has about zero overlap with mine.”

Schaller said he doesn’t favor this state of affairs but has overheard a lot of talk like this at denominational gatherings.

Another issue the book addresses is a serious problem he calls “the ministerial career ladder.” Pastors with years of smaller-church experience go up the ladder to take a senior pastorate at a large church. There they find their pastoring style to be in conflict with what the church expects. They have to change their style or force the church to function in small-church ways.

Schaller suggests three better routes to the senior pastorate: (1) start a church and pastor it from the beginning as a large church; (2) stay at the small or midsized church and change with it as it grows; (3) become an associate at a large church that would consider calling you as the next senior pastor, or go from there to the senior position at another large church.

One issue not addressed is the successful succession of senior pastors. Schaller told me this issue “is a tough one” and that nobody has an answer for it currently.

The joke around my elder board is that I’ve carried two Bibles: God’s Word and Lyle Schaller’s word. That may be true, but please, notice which comes first! I join the many senior pastors of larger churches who have said to Schaller, “I wish I’d had this book the first week I became a senior minister.”

How a Small Body Can Be Strong

Activating Leadership in the Small Church by Steve Burt Judson, $6.95

Reviewed by John R. Throop, Episcopalians United, Shaker Heights, Ohio

On a recent trip to central New York, I heard about two kinds of small churches. In one case, the denomination was preparing to close down yet another rural church and yoke it with others to create a “viable” unit. But in another case, four people told me they and a handful of others had been meeting in their rural area for nearly a year. They were at a point of decision. Could they form an official church in the denomination?

Small churches are at a crossroads in the late 1980s. Steve Burt addresses some of the key issues facing them in Activating Leadership in the Small Church.

Burt knows intimately the small-church environment. He has lived in that unique setting as a pastor for ten years and has supervised student pastors and taught at Andover-Newton Theological Seminary since 1985. He pastors parishes in North Hartland (average attendance, 30) and in White River Junction, Vermont (average attendance, 85). When I interviewed him he revealed he was just about to make a big move-to a smaller church (average attendance, 18) in Orient, New York.

Burt often hears the question, “What can the small church do?” His response is, “Where do you place the accent?” Is the question, What can the small church do? (a despairing question). Is it, What can the small church do? (emphasis on powerlessness). Or is it, best of all, What can the small church do?

“I wrote this book partly to address the issue of small-church esteem,” Burt said in the interview. “This is the key issue for small churches. Denominational executives often judge them by large-church standards-and the small churches suffer by comparison.”

He writes, “Small churches often feel insecure. . . . They are often apologetic about who they are or what they do. Perhaps the most desperate need of small churches today is to be told by their pastors, ‘I love you.’ They have too often been jilted by pastors who have used them as stepping stones. . . . Small churches don’t feel first-class in many ways.”

To counter this low self-esteem, Burt suggests that small churches assess their program and the demographics of the surrounding area to see what can be done now, especially to capitalize on those churches’ greatest strength, their fellowship and closeness of community. Small churches are good at transmitting cultural and religious values, Burt says-not only in the Christian education program, but in overall church life as well. Activities are more naturally intergenerational. The small church is a place where, in the words of the theme to the television sitcom “Cheers,” everyone knows your name.

What makes for a good small-church pastor? An ability, Burt asserts, to put people first-ahead of program, ahead of formality and ritual, sometimes even ahead of the fine points of doctrine. He or she spends more time pointing out the good work people have done rather than criticizing where they have failed.

In searching for a pastor, Burt says, the small church would do well to “pretend to be interviewing for a grandmother, a person who must possess more than a degree and some skills.”

In the small church, the pastor succeeds by letting lay people develop their gifts and abilities, giving them permission to succeed, and trusting them to follow through. That requires great patience sometimes, and less of a need to be in control. “Authority in the small church is never something demanded,” observes Burt. “It is always something given.”

“For a small-church pastor to thrive,” Burt said in the interview, “he or she must really be a lover of people, not a manager.” In some sense, the pastor must think like a parent, who leads by loving in relationship. The authority of the pastor comes more from authentic living than from a title.

“In a small setting,” writes Burt, “it is much easier for parishioners to respect or reject you as a person, looking past your title. They really look to see the authority of Christ shine through you as a pastor.”

Burt notes that many small churches question their potential for ministry because they can no longer support a full-time pastor. Indeed, 60 pledging units, roughly 110 members, are usually required today to provide for the ministry of a full-time pastor, whereas in the 1950s, 15 to 20 pledging units could provide the same level of support.

“But all churches don’t need fulltime pastors,” said Burt in the interview. “What we need are more tentmaker ministries, more bivocational pastors, and more laypeople trained for pastoral and preaching responsibilities.”

The book focuses on the development and nurture of lay leadership and its compatibility with pastoral ministry. Concise and well written, personal and experiential in approach, this volume reads rather like Schaller’s The Small Church Is Different! and compares favorably to Carl Dudley’s Making the Small Church Effective, two standard works in the field. What is different in Burt’s approach is his focus on ways to motivate volunteers in the small church, to unlock the big potential in small churches.

NEW AND NOTEWORTHY

Antagonists in the Church by Kenneth C. Haugk, Augsburg, $9.95

Clinical psychologist Kenneth Haugk doesn’t like antagonists any more than church leaders do. They’re irrational, aggressive, and unfair. They can tear a church apart. And every church has them at one time or another. But Haugk doesn’t think we have to take them anymore.

Mixing psychological insight with case studies and biblical teaching, Haugk realistically defines the issues, identifies antagonists, and shows how to prevent and deal with antagonism. In regard to the last section, he wisely and boldly offers advice on specifics like these: Who contacts whom? Where do we meet? Who speaks first? When to stay and when to leave?

Storytelling in Preaching by Bruce C. Salmon, Broadman, $6.95

Bruce Salmon is not a good preacher-“at best, a shade above ordinary,” he tells us. Maybe that’s why his comments about storytelling make sense to another shade-above-ordinary preacher. Nor is this a book about narrative preaching, an art form that eludes us average preachers. Instead Salmon tells us how to tell stories in the context of a traditional sermon, the type most of us preach week by week.

In a straightforward and down-to-pulpit manner, Salmon explains how stories enliven the typical didactic sermon, shows the ways and means of storytelling, and offers criteria for evaluating stories and sermons.

When You Have to Draw the Line by Les Christie, Victor, $5.95

Les Christie isn’t afraid of using the “D word,” even in church youth groups. In fact, he thinks more people should. So he wrote a small book packed with big ideas about discipline with youth.

Youthful self-discipline is the goal, positive discipline the means. Christie explores the reasons for problem behavior and shows how to become a positive disciplinarian. He offers sound advice on such topics as how to praise appropriately, control anger, and establish an environment in which good behavior is encouraged.

Having worked with youth for 20 years, Christie has his feet firmly set on earth. This is no dreamy-eyed advice about being nice to troubled kids, but a very practical, creative, and well-written book.

Singles Ministry Handbook by Douglas Fagerstrom, editor, Victor, $16.95

Over 60 million singles live in the United States, and most don’t attend church. This book intends to change that. Gathering the wisdom of more than 30 veterans of singles ministry, this handbook explains the needs and how-to’s of singles ministry and reminds us of the many manifestations of singles: the never married, the separated, the formerly married, single parents, and single senior adults.

The extent of the topics covered and books recommended (in an appendix) can’t help but make this a valuable handbook for those starting a singles ministry in the local church.

Training Teenagers for Peer Ministry by Barbara B. Varenhorst with Lee Sparks, Group, $8.95

Problem: Teenagers in crisis, rather than turning to an experienced adult, often turn to a peer for counseling. Unfortunately, teenagers lack skills for helping others competently. And sometimes, as many a youth minister will attest, they do more harm than good.

Solution: Barbara Varenhorst’s book. Actually it’s a curriculum-an outline of 14 sessions that teach teenagers how to care for each other effectively. The 90-minute sessions skillfully lay out a mix of Bible background, teaching, discussion, and role playing. Topics include such things as questioning nonverbal communication, decision making and values, family relationships, death, and suicide.

No Lifetime Guarantee: Dealing with the Details of Death by Katie Maxwell, Betterway, $9.95

Katie Maxwell, who was widowed five years ago, doesn’t focus on grief but instead contributes a handbook to help the recently bereaved deal with the myriad details of death. In a direct and appealing manner, she covers funeral and burial arrangements; dealing with attorneys, accountants, and insurance agents; understanding wills and probate; meeting financial obligations; survivor benefits; taxes; and establishing credit-among other things.

One oversight: she says little about the church’s role, especially at the time of the funeral. But readers of this journal should know about that. The other stuff often baffles us. Maxwell takes the mystery out of those troublesome details.

Reviewed by Mark Galli

Grace Presbyterian Church

Sacramento, California

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

A VACATION FROM GOD

John Killinger

Unless you’re careful, being a minister can give you “altar burn” from overexposure to religious associations. It’s unhealthy being around piety all the time. There is a stained-glass pallor about the people you meet. When they open their mouths to talk, you see little balloons coming out with all the print in Old English. Sometimes you want to preach in Chinese, or some other language nobody will understand, and say scandalous things while smiling like an archbishop.

Whenever that feeling gets too strong, I know I need a vacation from God. I need to be immersed in a world where the signs aren’t all printed in Old English and people’s hands aren’t all folded primly in prayer. I need a freshness that will revive my religion-asphyxiated soul.

Sometimes I need to be in a large city where I don’t know anybody and nobody knows me, where I can walk and gawk and be overwhelmed by the strangeness and the immensity of everything. I love to walk in strange places, see people I have never seen before and will never see again, smell the exotic smells, and feel totally lost. Something about it restores my being.

One winter night in the city of Kyoto, Japan, I took a bus bound for the center of town and got off when my fare expired. I had no idea where I was or how to get back to my hotel, for all the signs were in Japanese. Then the most tremendous snowflakes began to fall-the size of quarters and half dollars. Everyone on the streets looked like a walking snowman. It was exhilarating!

At other times I feel the need to be on a wide expanse of beach somewhere, listening to the cadence of the ocean and feeling the sun on my body.

There are other places to get away to: a cabin in the mountains, a good art museum, a movie, a walk in the woods, a Graham Greene novel. They all afford a certain surcease from the God-thing in my life, however brief or pedestrian.

But the truth is, as any child would point out, I’m not really getting away from God. I’m only walking out of my stale version of God, my limited number of settings for seeing God. God himself easily transcends my tired images of him, my habit of assigning him to this or that.

He is like the covey of birds someone described in a scene in France during World War I. Out of the colorful twilight, a shell whistled overhead, striking a country church silhouetted against the sky. At the deafening sound of the explosion, the birds flew up and disappeared. For a few moments, splinters and pieces of wood rained on the earth. Then it was quiet, and the birds settled down again as if nothing had happened. So God returns to his perch when we’ve had our little explosions. We haven’t gotten away from him. He is there, wherever we go.

That’s what the psalmist said, isn’t it? “If I climb up to heaven; thou art there. If I make my bed in Sheol, again I find thee. If I take my flight to the frontiers of the morning or dwell at the limit of the western sea, even there thy hand will meet me and thy right hand will hold me fast” (Ps. 139:8-10).

There isn’t any getting away from God. Not really. All there is is getting away from our own deadening routines, getting to somewhere new, to some strange country of the mind where our perception is not jaded and we are able to see everything more clearly. Even God.

-John Killinger

First Congregational Church

Los Angeles, California

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

THE HEALING POWER OF A CHILD

David Trembley

Even before we finished the first hymn, I knew that taking Aaron Charles Hoffman with me to the nursing home had been a good idea. More faces than usual were raised and turned in my direction. There were smiles on more of them. A number of folks were actually singing!

Ministry in nursing homes has always been one of my favorite pastoral duties, in some sense precisely because of the challenge. Over the course of their long lives, nursing-home residents have heard and seen it all. Especially in their latter days, they have been subjected to many assaults upon their freedom and dignity. In consequence, they have built strong emotional armor.

At 16 months of age, with a cloud of wispy, blond hair, Aaron Charles pierced their armor. For the entire forty minutes of this Thursday-morning worship service, I carried Aaron in my arms. And just to make sure I had all the ammunition I might need, I also brought with me Aaron’s two sisters: Rachael Ann, a 4-year-old blonde, and Elizabeth Eileen, a 6-year-old who had forgone kindergarten this morning “to go see the grammas and grampas.”

In response to the children’s presence, Anna, a resident who in all my previous visits had only chanted, “I’m hungry; I want some soup,” now conversed about the kind of soup she would prefer. “Bean soup with a ham bone,” she told me, “but of course, potato soup with a big chunk of polish sausage would also do quite nicely.”

John, a 90-year-old who had never been more than polite, started talking with Mary, the children’s mother, and told her more about his life in ten minutes than I’d been able to learn in three years.

Some of the nursing-home staff, who typically viewed the presence of the clergy as an opportunity to take a break, stayed for the service. Not since the first service three years ago (when, I suspect, they remained to see whether I could deal with Anna’s interruptions) had any of them actually participated. Today, however, three took seats in the back row.

The service went longer than usual. Because I had been holding Aaron, I hadn’t been able to look at my notes. Winging it is never efficient, so the time dragged. But no one seemed bored.

After the benediction, the staff arose and began wheeling the residents back to their rooms. Aaron had fallen asleep on my shoulder, and I was tired, too, so I sat on a front bench while Mary, Elizabeth, and Rachael continued with their visiting. Sitting directly across from me was Hilda, a woman who had never said a word to me before. She began telling me about the long-ago death of her son, talking as if we were old friends.

I didn’t know how to respond. The sharing was so sudden and unexpected. But 6-year-old Elizabeth, who had made her way back to the front of the room, knew just what to do. She leaned toward Hilda as though she wanted to comfort her. All Elizabeth needed, I thoughts was a bit of permission.

“Would you like to hold Hilda’s hand?” I asked.

“No!”

“Would you like to give Hilda a kiss to show her you love her?”

Before the words were fully out of my mouth, Elizabeth threw herself over the side of Hilda’s wheelchair, grabbed her with both arms, and began showering Hilda’s cheeks with kisses. For an instant Hilda looked bewildered, and then she started to cry, though she was smiling, too, as she returned the embrace.

Elizabeth couldn’t make all of Hilda’s pain go away, of course. But what a ministry of mercy! As the attendant wheeled Hilda away, I resolved that from then on, every time I conducted a nursing-home service, I would bring the children. The most effective ministry, I had seen, is often the simplest. Christ can come through a three-point sermon, but often he chooses a hug.

-David Trembley

Faith American Baptist Church

Germantown, Wisconsin

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

WHEN SPIRITUALITY IS JUST A JOB

Douglas Alan Walrath

One Easter, just before dawn, I was wakened by the persistent rapping of a state police officer at my door. He apologized for the intrusion and then told his tragic news. Some time during the night, Fred, a member of the parish, had run his car off the road, struck a tree, and been killed.

“Apparently he fell asleep,” the officer suggested. “He was alone.” No liquor was involved. In fact, the car was full of Easter candy and toys.

It wasn’t difficult to fill in the story. Unable to find work locally, Fred reluctantly had become a long-haul trucker. Though the pay was good, he hated the days away from home. He pushed to complete each run so he could spend as much time as possible with his wife and children.

Arriving at the truck terminal late that Saturday night, he had put presents for his children in his car and begun the fifty-mile drive home. On this night the fatigue had proved too great. Just ten miles short of his goal, he had fallen asleep. A few hundred feet later, his life ended when his car found an oak tree.

The police officer asked me to go with him to break the news to Fred’s wife. “I just can’t take that candy and those presents to her by myself,” he said. So Easter began with a 4 A.M. ride to share a tragedy.

By grace I made my way through the worship services later that morning. Easter night I went with Fred’s wife to choose a casket. I returned to stand with her at the calling hours Monday and to conduct the service on Tuesday. Knowing her friends and family would likely return to their own homes after a day or two, I visited her and the children Friday morning. Finally she had gotten angry. I sat with her while she railed at the “rotten God” who took away her husband-and as that same God began filling her with healing grace.

Back home, my weariness overtook me. I tried to work on the sermon for Sunday-to no avail. I simply didn’t have the energy.

After lunch I decided to take a break and plant the seeds I’d originally planned to sow Easter Monday. Worn out and preoccupied, I didn’t notice John, a neighbor and member of my church board, until he spoke.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Hi, John,” I replied, surprised to see him standing over me. “As you know, Monday’s my day off. I usually work on Friday. But this has been quite a week! On top of the usual visits, I’ve spent endless hours with Fred’s family. I know I really ought to be working on my sermon, but I couldn’t seem to get anywhere on it. So, I thought if I stole a few hours of time, I might be able to write later.”

“Whoa!” he said, smiling. “I didn’t expect an explanation. I already know how hard you’ve been working. I just wanted to know what you’re planting. I’ve watched ministers garden this plot for thirty years, and I can tell you which vegetables usually do better on this end of it.”

His remark stood me up straight. Why am I explaining? It took some months and other, similar experiences for me to discover the reason I felt I needed to explain why I wasn’t working. I realized that down deep I felt I wasn’t being fully spiritual unless I was on the job. I was a victim of work-related Christianity.

Work-related piety

How easily we ministers fall into the habit of working to feel spiritual! The traps are set early for many of us. I remember well the praise my family and friends offered when I told them of my calling to ministry. Unwittingly, I assumed that doing the work of a minister would make me spiritual.

My years in seminary reinforced that notion. Nearly all my spiritual development related to my work. I learned theology to clarify faith to others. I explored counseling to help others through the crises of believing. I studied liturgy to be able to lead meaningful worship. I spent hours learning the Word of God to write sermons that would enable others to understand it and find faith. I probed ethics so I could challenge others to faithful living.

Everyone at home and seminary encouraged me to apply myself fully to develop as a Christian minister; hardly anyone encouraged me to give attention to my development as a Christian person.

Even the meager attention given to personal piety related it to the work of ministry. I learned that a devoted minister begins the workday with time set aside to study Scripture and pray. But as I read the Bible, I found myself mostly writing notes that would become sermons. In my praying I focused mostly on the concerns of the congregation. My Christian identity was becoming increasingly dependent on my work. In fact, since my personal piety was integrated into my work schedule, days off from work were days off from devotions.

Once the pattern was set, my only means of growing spiritually was simply to work harder. I had a clear sense of being Christian only as I did ministry. Even when exhaustion overcame me, as it did that Friday after Easter, I found it difficult to “take time off.” So when church members like John found me not working, I felt impelled to explain, lest they see me as an unfaithful Christian.

Breaking free

It took me a while to discover a sounder and more healthy approach to Christian living. Let me describe a change in perspective and some practices that help me maintain a healthier Christian stance.

First, the perspective: I now see my ministry as both a calling and a job. Ministry is more than my work, but it is my work.

Some Christians typically spend their work days laying bricks, some extracting appendixes, and others writing sermons. Laying bricks, doing surgery, and writing sermons are all work.

As ministers, we can never be off duty from our calling; but just like bricklayers and physicians, we can be off duty from our work. While I cannot say, “I’m not a minister today,” I can say to myself and others, “I’m not working today.”

Some years ago I participated in a joint meeting of physicians and clergy. The conversation turned to parishioners and patients who make demands on pastors and doctors when they’re not working. One pastor asked a doctor, “What do you do when someone comes up to you in a grocery store and begins to talk about an ailment?”

“I suggest he or she call my office the next morning and arrange for an appointment,” the doctor responded.

“Oh, we could never get away with that!” the clergy responded in chorus.

The physician’s reply had a sobering effect: “You mean you don’t think enough of what you do and take the problems people bring to you seriously enough to suggest they schedule sufficient time with you to deal with them?”

Taking the perspective of ministry as the work to which we’re dedicated encourages us to find ways to do it well, but at the same time to take care of ourselves-including taking time for recreation-so that we might fulfill our calling to the best of our ability.

Second, the practices:

I no longer schedule spiritual nurture during my work time. I use my own time to affirm that my relationship with God involves more than work; it takes all I am.

As a minister, I don’t believe I have any more right to take “company time” to tend my personal piety than secretaries or physicians do. While most patients would like their doctor to be a person of faith, they would object if asked to pay for the time spent in personal devotions. I think it is equally out of line to believe parishioners should compensate a minister for time spent on personal spiritual nurture.

While I feel the need to pray as I work, I also feel the need to be free from work to give full attention to my conversation with God. My relationship with God isn’t based in or confined to my work any more than I would expect my doctor’s to be.

I have discovered that my faith is stimulated by certain aspects of my work. As I teach and preach, for example, the need for clear thinking has helped me clarify what I believe. In these spiritual serendipities of my chosen work I rejoice.

I don’t expect my work to nurture my faith. I’ve discovered I need regular time away from work and people to maintain and grow in faith-in a place where I know no one will invade. God nurtures me in quiet as well as in service.

When I neglect such time apart, I lose both my sense of inspiration and my sense of direction. When I do take such time, I return to work and to all the relationships of life with renewed vision and vigor.

I find unique ways to nurture my faith. For me, that means planting a large garden each spring. Often I tend my garden early in the morning. The quiet of those hours moves me to prayer. And sometimes a puzzling question I’m trying to work through suddenly becomes clear.

We are just as Christian when alone in reflective prayer, tending a garden, or talking with our spouses as when we’re teaching or preaching. We who are clergy are not fundamentally ministers; we’re Christian persons who are called to be ministers. And this understanding only enhances our ministry.

-Douglas Alan Walrath

associate professor of pastoral studies

Bangor (Maine) Theological Seminary

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

DEALING WITH THE OVERDEPENDENT

Craig Brian Larson

How can you help chronically needy people without them draining all your time, money, and energy?

It was Saturday night, and my sermon, one of the first at my new church, glowed in green on the screen. Deep in thought, I scarcely noticed the telephone’s ringing, but Nancy soon called down the stairs, “Meg Sheridan is on the phone.”

I groaned. Meg had attended my previous church for several months and was always nice-but always needy.

Don’t get me wrong; I love helping people in need. The gift of mercy motivated me to pastor in the inner city for eight years. I would rejoice when from a Sunday offering of $200 (far below budget), I could give $30 to Mary, a woman from the housing project whose cupboards were bare.

Only with the overdependent do I agonize about giving. I am torn between the words of Jesus, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these . . . ,” and a suspicion that some needy people don’t fit the parable.

How do we truly help the counselee who never seems to improve? Should we support an unemployed member who bypasses a minimum-wage job? How should we minister to the person who uses illness to get attention? What is ministry to the chronically dependent?

Firm or Cruel?

Reading 2 Thessalonians 3:6-12 and 1 Timothy 5:11-13, I realize assistance can go too far. It does some people more harm than good. My experience confirms that sometimes we have to lead the chronically needy into maturity with the firmness of a father who refuses to do his son’s homework. “No” or “Only if . . .” or “All right, but next time . . .” can be loving words, especially to the complacent. Necessity is the greatest motivator-for some the only motivator.

But at times I wonder, Am I being firm, or cruel? I know impatience and selfishness lurk in my heart, and if they guide my decision, it can be as cold as a wet glove in January. So when a denial seems necessary, I’ve learned to test myself with this question: Am I concerned more about myself or them?

Better to err on the side of mercy than sin against God through neglect. But if I do truly care about someone, it’s my obligation to check for indications of harmful overdependence.

I’ve worn many hats in the ministry, however, and the worst fit is the detective’s fedora. Rather than asking for a note from the doctor, rent receipts, W-2’s, or bank statements, I usually go by instinct, taking these factors into account:

How long have they been in need? A long-term dependency may suggest a willingness to remain in that state.

As I pray for them, does God give me any impressions about their situation?

How bold are they? Responsible people tend to be reluctant to request help. The overdependent, on the other hand, may assume you should talk in the middle of the night, drive forty miles to help, and spend huge chunks of time. The price paid by the pastor doesn’t seem to matter to them.

How persistent are they? The chronically needy don’t take no for an answer. In a span of ten minutes, I literally told one guy twenty times we couldn’t help him anymore. Finally, because I was fed up, he walked out with a bag of groceries.

Do they blame others or offer other excuses? Responsible individuals own up to their mistakes.

When Giving Is Not Loving

But I’ve learned I need to check not only the person, but also the overall situation. Here are four situations in which I have found it necessary to limit or modify ministry to the needy.

If giving reinforces weakness. Some people are truly needy, but they actually seem to want dependency. Giving is not loving if I interminably offer support and sympathy without teaching them to be strong in the Lord.

A man phoned me daily for prayer, terribly afraid, always in tears, always “about to die.” I would pray each time, no matter the interruption, and briefly encourage him.

I was pleased with my compassion and patience. I now see, however, that I failed this man. He would phone during church services but never attend, walk in to buy tracts but never pray. I urged him to come to church, but, disarmed by his weakness, I poured on the shepherd’s oil while withholding the shepherd’s staff. The result: a weak ministry to a weak person.

One pastor told me about working with a lonely, single woman in her forties. “She tried to commit suicide with an overdose,” he said. “While at the hospital, she began to enjoy the attention she received from our staff and others in the church. So after being discharged, three times she called the paramedics and then took an overdose of pills.

“I confronted her with my suspicions, and she admitted using overdosing as a way to get attention. I then said that in order not to encourage this any more, none of us were going to visit her in the hospital. She hasn’t been hospitalized since.”

If giving indulges childishness. Just as a mother’s love can be taken for granted, so our generosity can prompt immature people to become demanding, ungrateful, or disrespectful. For example, the Corinthians thought less of Paul because he supported himself. We often give the overdependent more time, money, and energy than anyone else in the church, and yet they appreciate it the least.

Charles Nestor, a pastor in Oak Park, Illinois, says: “We had a woman come into our church who demanded rides from people, even though public transportation was available. She wrote repeated letters directing me to make announcements in church for others to help her. She threatened to call denominational officials if I didn’t meet her demands. She felt her need surpassed everyone else’s. We tried to help, but eventually the only thing we could do was ignore her.”

When we sense that someone is growing in contempt rather than respect, we only reinforce childishness by serving as lackeys.

If giving enables sin. Al-Anon, the support group for families of alcoholics, counsels against being an “enabler” who covers for the alcoholic. When a wife lies to an employer about why her husband missed work, she actually fosters alcoholism by shielding her husband from its consequences.

In the same manner, our ill-advised support can enable sin for those who create their own quagmires through irresponsibility, laziness, or depravity.

Says Phil Nelson, a pastor in Oak Brook, Illinois: “At a previous church, we had a young man who felt God had called him not to work. He had gotten out of the Army and moved in with another man. Finally his host told me, ‘I’m burning out. I house this guy, feed him, provide in every way, and he does nothing. I can’t take it any more.’ I suggested he confront him with 2 Thessalonians 3. When he did, the slacker found another family to live with.

“When the staff and elders then confronted him, he moved to a different town and started the same thing in another church. That church eventually confronted him, so he went to a third congregation, which did the same.

“Then, about fourteen months later, he moved back, reentered our church, and got a job.”

What feels like charity may actually cripple character if it helps people become chronic responsibility shifters, a habit with profound spiritual implications.

If giving allows others to burn out or be neglected. As shepherds, we are concerned for the welfare not only of the overdependent, but also of others. The chronically needy tax the pastor; they can total a parishioner.

One pastor says, “A woman in our church has a physical problem and does have limitations, but she also resists doing what she can. Compounding the problem, she never talks to anyone without complaining. One lady in the church volunteered to clean her house and ended up making dinner and shopping for groceries. After the fourth time of going and being presumed upon for extra duty, the helper decided she won’t help anybody anymore. Several other people have also burned out helping this needy woman. We have to warn those who help her to draw the line: ‘If it starts to drain you, stop.’ We’ve found that when no one shows up, she gets things done.”

How to wean

When we conclude that our performance as a wet nurse is harming an overdependent person, the challenge is to wean them in a redemptive way. Here are some suggestions both from my experience and other pastors’:

Be sure we have proved our concern. One approach I like comes from a church leader who says, “If someone calls with a financial need, we help him the first time with few questions asked. The second time we work with him to understand why he’s in need and to remedy bad habits. If he comes a third time, we tell him that unless he corrects his irresponsible actions, we won’t help again. The fourth time we say no.”

Verbally affirm our concern when we must say no. Even when we must decline to offer assistance, we can tell the person that what we can offer is friendship and that we aren’t rejecting the person-we simply can’t help this time.

Point out that giving them a boost has not helped, and discuss why that may be the case. Explain that love demands we do what’s best, even when it hurts.

When counseling someone who isn’t improving, one counselor advises, “Deal with that up front: ‘Marlene, you’re bringing up these same problems again and again. We’ve prayed about it, and we’re trusting the Lord for an answer. But it appears you’re not acting on the counsel we’ve agreed on. It sounds as if you’re right back to square one.’ “

In some situations, instead of knocking out all the props at once, decrease them progressively. Pete grew up in mental institutions, but despite some learning disabilities, he’s a capable person. He attended a couple of our services and then reported, “Pastor, if you don’t help me, I’ll be out on the street.”

We paid a full month’s rent for him, but as I handed him the check I said, “We can’t keep doing this. You have to get a job.” On the way out, he stocked up on food from our pantry. In each of the following weeks he also asked for bus money. I began by giving him fifteen dollars, and each time thereafter I decreased it by two or three dollars.

One month later he again requested help with his rent. He had found a job but hadn’t caught up with his bills. This time I paid half his rent, again stressing, “We don’t have the budget to continue this kind of support.”

We had gotten Pete down to occasional bags of food and bus fare when, for the third time, he asked for help with his rent. I said, “Pete, we care about you, and we’ll pay some of the bill. But this is the last time.” We paid about a third of it, and from that day on he’s taken care of himself.

Focus on answers rather than rehearsing the problem. One pastor relates, “We had a woman in our church whose life revolved around her needs, which were real. She was widowed, handicapped, in her fifties, with a semiretarded daughter, and living in a hostile environment. She would bring the subject up in every church service. If any encouragement to be strong was given, she reacted as if it were a rebuke. We found that as long as a person is consumed with her need, her sense of defeat and dependency will remain.

“We dealt with her by directing conversations to the positive, to what God was doing or could do in her life. Gradually her perspective brightened, and she became much more positive and independent.”

Do not treat ongoing needs as emergencies. Another pastor relates, “One woman uses emotional trauma to keep attention focused on herself. To help her out of this pattern, we no longer treat her ongoing needs as emergencies. If she calls about such a need, we promise to call her back, and later we do. This keeps her from being so manipulative.”

Pray with them, and, just as important, teach them to pray for themselves. Concerning the woman just mentioned, the pastor says, “She would call expecting us to do her praying. I once asked, ‘Have you prayed about this?’

” ‘No, I haven’t.’

“I told her, ‘God, your heavenly Father, wants to help you. I want you to do the praying, and then I’ll pray also.’ She did, which was a big step for her.”

As these suggestions reveal, firmness doesn’t necessarily thicken calluses. On the contrary, coupled with prayer, admonishment, follow-up contact, alternative support, and affirmation, it shows deep concern.

I learned that lesson with Richard, a young man who walked into our church several years ago and tearfully decided to follow Christ. When he revealed his homelessness a few days later, I provided my office as temporary lodging.

In the days ensuing, Richard spent more time guitar strumming than job hunting. When finally I gave an ultimatum, he found billet at a funeral parlor. He also began dating a woman in the church and skipping most of our services.

Theresa seemed happy in this relationship, even though my impression grew that he was exploiting her financially. I suggested that he wake up in time for church, get a better job, and avoid old drug-using buddies. I also asked why he was dating Theresa. Soon he drifted away. Several years later I bumped into Richard at the library, and he told me he had no relationship with God. I felt bad, though I didn’t regret the firm approach I had taken.

To my surprise, he recently phoned from Ohio to say, “Pastor, I’m living for Jesus.” For a year he has been attending a strong church. He is working. And in a subsequent letter came a wedding photo with a responsible-looking bridegroom and a happy bride.

A perfect ending? I doubt it; he probably has not overcome completely his proclivity to milk others. But Richard exemplifies what I’ve often seen: the overdependent frequently flee when handled stoutly, but that same firmness, and not softness, is what helps them most.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Art or Chernobyl: Which Matters More?

“To believe in the supernatural is not simply to believe that after living a successful, material, and fairly virtuous life here one will continue to exist in the best-possible substitute for this world, or that after living a starved and stunted life here one will be compensated with all the good things one has gone without: it is to believe that the supernatural is the greatest reality here and now.”

“I take for granted that Christian revelation is the only full revelation and that the fullness of Christian revelation resides in the essential fact of the Incarnation, in relation to which all Christian revelation is to be understood. The division between those who accept, and those who deny, Christian revelation I take to be the most profound division between human beings.”

Both of these quotations come from the writings of T. S. Eliot, born 100 years ago this month, a poet who garnered equal respect and near reverence from the world’s Christian and literary communities. Given his early reputation as a pioneer of the modernist movement and a voice of despair, Eliot surprised nearly everyone when he embraced Christianity. But a few years later, he came very close to abandoning his artistic calling in a quest for spiritual solutions to the world’s crises.

Eliot acknowledged that anxiety about the future was a central factor in his conversion. The global problems of his day make modern times seem calm by contrast: Hitler, Mussolini, and Franco were spreading terror throughout Western Europe, while Stalin ravaged half a continent to the east. Eliot concluded that only the Christian faith could bring order to that chaotic world.

Then, at the peak of his creative powers, Eliot apparently lost faith in the power of art. He said, “At the present time I am not very much interested in the only subject which I am supposed to be qualified to write about: that is, one kind of literary criticism. I am not very much interested in literature, except dramatic literature; and I am largely interested in subjects which I do not yet know very much about: theology, politics, economics, and education.” As he became convinced that Western civilization was in peril, his attention shifted from art to more pragmatic concerns.

Liberalism and humanism seemed to represent the greatest threats, and to combat them Eliot proposed a “Community of Christians” that would serve as a kind of elite “Moral Minority.” As he saw it, this gathering, comprising the most fertile minds from a variety of fields, would formulate Christian values for the society at large. Eliot himself participated in such a group: they backed an economic reform plan known as Social Credit and spawned a publication, Christian News-Letter, for which Eliot wrote a regular column.

The community, however, floundered. Members rarely could agree on practical programs, or even on the desirability of discussing practical programs. And their common Christian commitment did not guarantee a consensus on social issues. (To appreciate the problem, simply imagine Jerry Falwell, Jimmy Swaggart, Episcopal Bishop Paul Moore, Jr., Joseph Cardinal Bernardin of Chicago, and church historian Martin Marty discussing homosexual rights and abortion policies.)

Eliot’s reflections on society make a fascinating historical study, for many of the same issues are fiercely debated in the United States today. Do Christians have a right to impose their values on a pluralistic society? If not, who can suggest an alternative set of values?

Few students, however, are poring over Eliot’s commentary on society. His political and social theories now seem quaint and a bit fustian, and scholars treat them with mild bemusement. None of his many writings on politics and social theory remain in print. In fact, just to view them I had to visit the rare book room of a major university library. The irony struck me with great force: All over the world, students are poring over Eliot’s poetry, mining the allusions, exploring the images and symbols—many of them deeply Christian—embedded there.

The hundredth anniversary of T. S. Eliot marks a good time to reflect on his career, which offers a living parable of the enduring value of art. Visit a public library today and ask to see sample issues from 1960 of the following magazines: Harper’s, Atlantic Monthly, New Yorker, Esquire. Count the proportion of articles that are “literary” in nature, compared with those oriented around politics or pragmatic issues. Then go to the racks containing current issues of the same magazines. You will find a much smaller proportion of literary articles in the current magazines. Or, pick up socially concerned Christian magazines such as The Other Side and Sojourners, or even CHRISTIANITY TODAY, and note how much space they devote to the arts, especially those works that have no overt spiritual or social message.

As a society, we keep turning from art toward more urgent, practical concerns. In a world facing economic and environmental crisis and the threat of global holocaust, who has time for poetry? Shouldn’t we be writing and reading about South Africa, Nicaragua, Chernobyl, and other “relevant” matters?

Whenever I am tempted by such thoughts, I remember the continuing influence of such Christian authors as Eliot, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Donne, Swift, and Milton. (Donne similarly gave up writing poetry at the height of his career in order to devote himself to his sermons, which are seldom read today.) All of these wrote voluminously about the relevant issues of their time, and all those works have become mere curiosities, obscure footnotes to literary history. Meanwhile, their creations based on, in Faulkner’s words, “… the old universal truths lacking which any art is ephemeral and doomed—love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice,” have not ceased to illuminate and inspire.

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