Pastors

The Tightrope: A Case Study in Church Discipline

A true account of confronting adultery.

The following account of a church’s experience with disciplinary action is based on Lee and Bev Hotchkiss’s memory of events. Names and other identifications have been changed because of the sensitive nature of what happened.

Lee Hotchkiss, pastor of the Evangelical Free Church in Pineview, Colorado, knew Georgina’s sobbing voice immediately, even though it was 2:00 A.M. and her call had awakened him from a sound sleep. She sounded hysterical. “Jack just told me he’s having an affair,” she cried.

She was a member of the church, her husband one of its five board members. Her voice shook as she poured out her story. She had never suspected before tonight. She still did not know who Jack was sleeping with. Lee listened, then offered what encouragement and hope he could. Trained as a marriage counselor, he was a hard man to ruffle. Georgina’s wild voice seemed to calm somewhat, perhaps as she realized that even her pastor could not do much to help her at two in the morning. Lee promised to pray. Finally they said good-by.

Lee’s wife, Bev, lay beside him, fully awake. He told her what Georgina had said. “Who could it be?” she asked.

“The way Georgina is going at him, I’m sure she’ll weasel that out of him before morning,” he said. Lee felt himself losing the calm self-assurance he had put on automatically when the telephone woke him. He sat on the edge of the bed, his chin down toward his knees. What would this mean? Jack would have to resign his church position. He had just been at the parsonage two days ago for the Saturday men’s prayer breakfast, kidding, talking like a champ. Jack, an adulterer? Georgina, who had a plain face with scars from severe acne, had told everyone how happy they were together. She had said almost too often how God had blessed their marriage.

“I guess it can happen to anybody,” Lee said.

“Are you going to come back to bed?” Bev asked.

“It’s no use now. I can’t sleep. I’m going out to the living room. I want to pray.”

Bev got up too. Her anger surfaced more quickly than Lee’s. “How could he do that to her? And those two beautiful children. Georgina may not be any great beauty, but she loves him. She loves those children. Don’t you think so?”

Lee was characteristically thoughtful. “Yeah. She loves him. I’m sure she’s not always that easy to live with, though.”

“But that’s no excuse.”

“No. It’s no excuse.”

In the living room he knelt at the sofa. He prayed for direction. He had dealt with difficult marriages before, but this was new. Their little church, barely two years old, just into its new building, would be rocked. Why had he missed the signs? He had spent so many hours with Jack; why hadn’t he known? He felt guilty. Had he expounded the Scriptures clearly on marital faithfulness? Looking back, he knew he could have said more. If he had had any idea. If he had just had any idea.

The phone rang, jarring the night silence. Lee was sure it would be Georgina again. She was the sort of woman who needed constant reassurance. But a man’s voice was on the line: Dennis, another member of the church board. He sounded buried in gloom. He had just discovered that his wife, Sharon, was Jack’s other woman. Apparently it had not taken Georgina long to get a full confession from Jack. Georgina had called Sharon; they had screamed at each other on the phone. Sharon had just come back from five days on the high plains; she had taken the time off because, she said, she needed the time to be alone. Now they knew why.

Lee felt sick at heart. He had spent hours with Dennis and Sharon. They were young, immature in many ways, but full of potential. Dennis had been considering going back to school, entering the ministry. Now this.

“Sharon says they’re going to go away,” Dennis told him.

“When?”

“Right now. She’s packing her suitcase right now.”

“Where’s Jack?”

“He’s coming to get her.”

Lee was at a loss for words. He could only encourage Dennis, just as he had been doing for weeks. “Just keep loving her, Dennis. She needs your love. Love is what can straighten this situation out.” After promising to call Jack, he hung up. The night was becoming a nightmare.

Bev had come in and listened. She was dressed as though she planned to go out. “I was thinking about Georgina,” she said. “I feel so sorry for her. I thought I’d go over and try to comfort her.”

Lee explained about Sharon. Sharon was twenty years old, blonde, cute, seductive. She dressed to please men, to show her figure. She acted sweet. And she had been involved with men before she married Dennis. Lee knew that because they had come for advice over finances; as a young couple with two small children, they had constant troubles reconciling their limited income with their unlimited expectations. Sharon in particular hardly knew what it meant to wait for something she wanted. They spent the winter on the slopes, an expensive habit. Trying to control their budget led to other subjects, naturally. Despite their troubles, Lee would not have picked them as candidates for a breakup.

“And they’re going to take off tonight? To where?” Bev asked. “What about the children?”

“I don’t get the impression they’ve thought it out,” Lee answered. “They’re just planning to drive off into the sunrise. You go ahead and see Georgina. I’m going to call Jack and ask him to wait until morning, so we can at least talk in the light of day before they go. I’ll tell him you’re on the way.”

* * *

The lights were on at Jack and Georgina’s small tract home when Bev reached it, but Jack’s pickup was gone. He was a carpenter, self-employed, who worked out of the back of his truck. Had he already left with Sharon? But when Bev knocked softly on the door, Jack answered. He wore blue jeans and a sweatshirt; even in the middle of the night he looked handsome, dark, and trim. He invited her in, awkwardly, and she stepped just inside the door.

“Georgina’s gone,” he said. She had not told him where she was going; maybe she was at the Mastersons’, friends of theirs and also members of the Pineview church. Jack did not say very much, but he seemed genuinely worried about her. “I would go out and look for her, but I don’t want to leave the kids alone,” he said. Bev felt like asking him who would stay with the kids once he left for good, but she held her tongue.

“No, I’ll go out and see if I can find her,” she said. “The Mastersons know?”

“Yeah, they know. She called them up. I hope that’s where she’s gone. If you find her, you can tell her about going to your house.”

Bev was momentarily puzzled. “My house?”

“Lee asked me if before we took off we would come by and listen to what he had to say. I couldn’t say no to Lee. He’s such a great guy. We’re going to meet there at seven o’clock. I think Lee wants Georgina to come too.”

When she reached the Mastersons’, Georgina was not there, and they had not seen her. Pineview is a resort town, its stores and restaurants done in roughhewn pine. People go there from Dallas and Chicago to get out of the rat race. It has only one main street; Bev drove down it, stopping at two all-night stores and looking in restaurant parking lots for the pickup. The night was dark and utterly still; she saw no one. She felt herself increasingly angry: angry over lost sleep, over the fact that she would have to skip work at the bank, over the stupidity and thoughtlessness of people who ought to know better.

She could remember now an occasion a few weeks before, when they were having a work party finishing up the new church. Both Jack and Sharon had been there, and when Bev had offered to take Sharon home instead of letting Jack do it, Sharon had in her sweet way been quite resistant to the offer. So it had been building up that long, at least. Bev felt anger at their audacity, meeting each other at the church. And she felt heartsick and unable to understand the loss. What would it do to the families? To the church? To Lee?

* * *

Lee Hotchkiss did not sleep anymore that night. He prayed, he talked to Bev when she came home, he tried to think what to do. Several times he looked at the Bible passages that deal with church discipline, Matthew 18:15-20 in particular. He had only seen church discipline applied once, long ago when he was a child growing up on the West Coast. Pineview was his first pastorate, though he had been in the ministry for years as a missionary and a youth pastor.

He was not by nature a confrontive person, and when he thought of the meeting he had arranged, he grew agitated and wanted to pace up and down the house. He liked people and liked to get along with them. Pineview Evangelical Free Church was small enough-about seventy-five on most Sunday mornings-for him to pour his life into its men. He had spent many hours with Dennis and Jack in particular. He knew them well. They were good friends. The last thing he wanted to do was to come on like a heavy. Lee was shocked by the news of Jack’s affair, and his understanding of the Bible made him believe he had a duty to confront. But it would have been easier to roll over and play dead, to let them do what they wanted to do.

Georgina was the first to arrive. She had finally turned up at the Mastersons’ and spent most of the night with them. She looked awful: tight, nervous, distraught, unkempt. Bev had gone off to watch Dennis and Sharon’s children, so Lee was alone to greet her. He ushered her into their long, narrow living room, where she sat down on the love seat. Lee found it difficult to know what to say to her. He heard another car roll up. It was Jack’s pickup; he and Sharon got out. In the back, Lee saw a suitcase. Sharon looked trim, blonde and pretty, ready to go. They made a handsome couple.

Dennis drove up last, and they all went into the living room. There was little small talk, just stony nods all around. Lee took a deep breath and began.

He talked about the wrong that had been done but did not dwell on it. He concentrated on hope: hope that marriages could be pulled together with the help that was available. He emphasized that no couple had to struggle alone, that with the resources of the church and good counselors any marriage could not only be saved but have new joy and life breathed into it. He had thought most of the night about what he would say, and though he felt physically exhausted, his brain reeling from lack of sleep, he did not lack for words.

His monologue did not last long. Georgina broke in: “I just can’t believe it, Lee. I thought I married a Christian.” She turned on Sharon and began sobbing. “You Jezebel! You turned my husband into an adulterer.”

Jack said he still considered himself a Christian. He looked tight and uncomfortable.

“Some Christian!” Georgina cried. “Sleeping with any tramp who walks in the church. Is that a Christian, Lee?”

“What right do you have to attack him?” Sharon wanted to know. “If you loved him the way I do, he wouldn’t need anyone else.”

But Georgina would not be put on the defensive. Her emotions came unplugged as she flailed at Jack and at Sharon. Soon everyone was talking at once. Lee became more a moderator and an interpreter than a preacher.

He could soon sense a direction to the conversation. Jack was wavering. He had come because of Lee’s friendship, not expecting to be swayed. But when Lee posed the consequences of his decision, he could not stick to it. Finally he admitted Lee was right.

“What are you going to do, then?” Lee asked.

“I’m going to go home with Georgina,” he said slowly, “and make our marriage work. That’s the right thing to do for God and for Georgina and for my kids.”

Sharon’s pretty blue eyes had been watching Jack’s face closely, as though she thought by her will power she could stop the pastor’s influence. Now she rose from her seat, flushed with anger, unable to speak. She ran to the front door and outside. After the door slammed behind her, no one spoke for a moment

“She can’t go anywhere,” her husband, Dennis, said. “She doesn’t have any keys.”

“Let’s finish our business,” Lee suggested, “and then we’ll see how we can help Sharon.” He felt a tremendous rush of hope. He had not really dared to think they might be changed by confrontation with the truth.

* * *

Bev wandered around Dennis and Sharon’s house nervously praying for Lee. The children were still asleep, so Bev had nothing to do but think about what was going on at her own house. She wandered into the bedroom. An elaborate waterbed, with built-in bookshelves and mirrors, stood practically wall to wall. On the floor was one of Sharon’s flimsy nightgowns and a pair of Dennis’s tennis shoes. She wondered what had gone on between them during the night.

She had been there less than an hour when the telephone rang. It was Dennis, asking her to bring the two boys to the house. “How did it go?”

“Great,” he said. “They’re not going to go.”

She got there as quickly as she could, praising God all the way. As she drove up, she saw Sharon at the back of the house, sitting on some rocks. Sharon did not look up. When Bev went inside, Lee and the other three were on their knees in the living room just finishing up their prayers. Dennis’s boys ran to him, and Bev went outside to talk to Sharon.

She jumped to her feet and began picking red ants off herself with impatient jerks. Bev went up and extended her arms. “Sharon, I love you,” she said. But Sharon fended her off and stared into her eyes, looking so strange and hate-filled that she frightened Bev. Bev backed off.

Lee had come out behind them; Sharon turned on him with the same concentrated hate. She shook her finger in his face. “I’m going to ruin you,” she said. “Everybody in this town is going to hear about you.”

* * *

Jack had repented, or seemed to have repented. At least when Lee talked to him, he said in apparent sincerity that he wanted to do what was right. But Sharon, for all her bubbly sweetness, was a determined young woman. She wanted Jack, and she knew that his weak link was physical attraction. If she could get to him, he would fall for her.

In a sense, Lee was the only one standing in her way. So began an almost comical battle of wills. “It was utterly ridiculous,” Lee remembers. “We were trying to help Dennis and Sharon build a more positive marriage. That’s got to involve trust. But Dennis simply could not trust her with the keys to the car, because as soon as she got them she would set sail for Jack. She would beg him for them, complaining repeatedly that he didn’t trust her-which in a way was true. She couldn’t be trusted.

“Of course, if she and Jack had really been determined, they certainly could have taken off. We couldn’t have stopped them, nor would we have tried. As a matter of fact, they managed several liaisons that first week. But they both had some ambivalence about what they were doing, which we could tap if we got to them in time. It was laughable, in a way, because it was such an adolescent fantasy they were living out.”

Immediately after the news broke, Lee asked two couples to be closely involved. The Mastersons would work with and counsel Jack and Georgina; they were old friends. Loren and Roberta, former Navigator staff members who had been in a Bible study with both couples, had daily contact with Dennis and Sharon. Sharon was so angry at Lee that she could not speak to him. She threatened to print up a brochure about him and spread it all over town. But at times, especially when talking with Roberta, Sharon seemed ready and willing to do what was right. Then days or even hours later she would be headed for Jack again.

The phone rang constantly, and each time it rang Lee tensed. The phone call might be from Georgina, saying she had seen Jack’s truck parked in town and didn’t know whether the two might be together. Or Dennis might call saying the phone had rung, and when he answered it, the caller hung up. Lee would call Jack, and he would deny doing it. But they never knew who was telling the truth.

One evening after supper, about a week after the affair broke, Lee was at the high school finishing up a project for a woodworking course. Bev came rushing into the class, slightly out of breath. “Dennis just called. Sharon’s been asking for the car keys, and he wouldn’t give them. So she’s on her bike, headed for Jack’s house.”

Lee shrugged. “OK, I’ll go.” He got into his car. It was a June evening, still light. Sure enough, a few blocks from Jack’s house he passed Sharon pedaling toward it. When he arrived, Jack’s truck was there. It was a new house in a new subdivision, with a pile of dirt for landscaping still in front. Lee couldn’t help smiling at the way he headed Sharon off at the pass.

Georgina, who suffered headaches and other painful symptoms associated with TMJ dysfunction, was in bed, and Lee and Jack spent part of the time talking to her. She was a nervous woman, given to fits of emotion, and she could be a nag. She nagged Jack about his spiritual condition: “Jack, if you could only turn your life completely over to the Lord!” Which was an accurate diagnosis, of course, but not so helpful coming from her. Lee talked to her about her need to give Jack some freedom: she was smothering him, pushing him into Sharon’s arms. One minute she could see it; the next she was back at him. But at least the communication process between them was beginning.

The time he spent with Jack alone was even more encouraging. It was, he thought, their most honest talk ever. Jack seemed deeply affected by what Lee said. The thought of leaving his kids, of deserting Georgina, of disobeying the Lord was obviously painful to him. Lee tried to describe the personality problems he saw in Sharon. “This is a pattern, Jack. She’s done it before. She’s doing it now. How do you know she won’t do it to you in a year?”

He could tell from Jack’s face that the message was penetrating. Jack would nod slowly. “You’re right, Lee. I’m going to start learning how to love Georgina, how to treat her the way I should.” Sharon never came. Lee was there for two hours and left after the sky had turned quite dark. He felt elated.

Late that night Jack called. He was at the hospital emergency room. “Lee, would you mind coming over here? Georgina tried to commit suicide.”

The hospital was new, bright, and cheery with wide corridors. Lee had been there many times in the last year, visiting a little boy with leukemia. He found Jack and Georgina in a room alone. Jack looked grave and worried; he was being very attentive to Georgina. She lay on a table, still in her nightgown. It was streaked with vomit. They had pumped her stomach, and every so often a dry heave still came. She looked horrible; Lee thought to himself, This is humanity at its lowest point.

Sharon had been hiding in Jack’s truck when Lee left the house. She had been there waiting during the entire time they had talked. After Lee had gone, she had come to the door. Georgina, not Jack, had answered. They had held a screaming match. Jack, who wanted to keep them both happy, had finally taken Sharon home, putting her bicycle in the back of the truck. Thinking he was gone for good, the distraught Georgina had dumped a load of pills down her throat and lain down to die. That was how Jack found her when he came back. He had taken her immediately to the emergency room.

Lee prayed for them and left, much less elated than he had been earlier in the evening.

The next day Sharon made an attempt at suicide-more a cry for help than a serious attempt, Lee thought, but sobering. The doctor kept her in for observation overnight. She was quiet when Lee visited her, not venomous as she had been. From Dennis, though, Lee learned that his observations about her personality problems, which he had made to Jack the evening before, had been parroted on to her. She now had more reason than ever to see Lee as the enemy.

Two days later came the break Lee and Bev had prayed for: a full-scale reconciliation between the families. Dennis and Sharon had taken flowers to Jack and Georgina, and Sharon had asked for forgiveness. Georgina and Sharon hugged each other, with tears. The four had prayed together. Tremendous elation filled Lee’s heart when he learned of this.

Within a few days he was back at it-trying to stop Jack and Sharon from leaving town. All their promises and pledges were out the window.

* * *

Lee and Bev had put off their scheduled vacation for one week, and they decided to wait no longer. They headed for Washington, to Lee’s folks, and spent the week sleeping. Their two daughters played in the pool and with their grandparents while Lee and Bev recuperated. They had not realized how much strain the hours of counseling and strategizing had generated, and the continued tension of not knowing what might happen next. Away from it, they felt as though a deafening noise had suddenly quit. They could feel the quiet, the peace.

But vacations end. Nothing in Pineview had changed in their absence. As the days passed, they began to grow cynical: they no longer put much stock in Jack’s or Sharon’s professions. Both of them could flip-flop with alarming ease.

Yet they seemed to really mean it at the moment they said they were going to change. The problems were not as simple as whether or not the two wanted to obey. They both-in fact, all four-had developed patterns of thinking and relating that didn’t fit well with the difficult marriages they were in. Lee sat once with Jack in a restaurant late at night, drinking coffee and talking about the kind of marriage Jack wanted. “Every time a woman comes in here,” Jack said, “I look at her and think, Is this the woman I’ve been waiting for? Could this be the perfect one?” With such a made-in-Hollywood mindset, Jack naturally found it hard to look ahead to a lifetime with Georgina.

Nothing seemed to make a dent for long: Sharon still wanted Jack, and Jack still wanted Sharon, and neither one knew how to say no to desire. “More than a few times I wondered,” Lee says, “if we all wouldn’t be better off just letting them do what they wanted to do. If I hadn’t known them so well and cared about them so much, perhaps I would have. I hurt for them, and for the church.”

Lee continued to read the biblical passages on church discipline. He believed the purpose of discipline was not so much to punish as to reprove, with the goal of restoring the person to full fellowship. He could see that the confrontation he had done so far was not working; he began to think that the next step was called for: going with a witness. He saw this step, and the next one, less as escalating punishment than escalating pressure. It was pressure designed to push people out of their well-grooved rut, to shake them into seeing the direction they were going.

Dennis called one evening about suppertime. They were packing to go again, he told Lee. Sharon was packed and ready. Jack was on his way to pick her up. What should Dennis do? Lee hung up and called Jack’s house; he caught Jack on the way out the door. Jack didn’t try to deny it.

As on the first night, Lee leaned on his friendship. “Jack, it’s your choice, and nobody’s going to stop you. But will you do one thing for me? Will you wait just fifteen minutes at Sharon’s house while I come? I just want to read a few words to you and then let you go.”

“OK,” Jack said.

Lee called the church chairman, Ben. He was a muscular, soft-spoken older man, a retired carpenter whom Lee had worked beside all day every day for nine months building the church. Ben knew nothing about what had been going on. Lee told him there was some immorality he felt obliged to confront, and he asked Ben to go with him.

Ben did not say no, but he made his reluctance clear. Again, Lee relied on his personal relationship.

“Ben, will you do it for me? I need someone to stand with me.”

Finally Ben said he would, if he didn’t have to say anything.

In the car on the way over, Lee told Ben more of the facts. Ben did not say much; he never did. He was obviously uncomfortable in this role. They arrived at Dennis and Sharon’s little house: Jack’s pickup was in the drive. Lee’s face turned red, and he dreaded what would follow. He and Ben prayed briefly in the car. When he went inside, he noticed Sharon’s suitcase in the hall. She and Jack waited in the living room.

Lee gave a short preamble. “I love you both,” he said. “I don’t want you to go. I believe you’re hurting yourselves and you’re hurting others. But the choice is yours. You just have to live with the consequences of your choice. I’m going to read a few verses of Scripture to you that bring home the significance of what you’re doing.”

He took up his Bible and read “the scariest passages I could find,” including 1 Corinthians 6:9-10: “Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.”

When he had finished reading, he saw no reaction, so he got up and left with Ben.

At home, another call came. They had not gone. They had decided to repent. Elation again.

A few days later Jack had a carpentry job in the nearby town of Silverwood. He was out of town for a few days. Sharon went up to stay with him. They came back to their homes in Pineview when the job was done, but no one had any illusions the affair was over.

* * *

Sunday night, after the evening service, Lee singled out the visitors in the congregation. He expressed his pleasure they had come, and he hoped they would come again soon. “But we have some family business we’d like to do now, and it’s the kind of thing we want to keep within the church family.” The visitors left, and Lee began to talk about church discipline.

He spoke first about confidentiality. This worried him as much as anything in taking Jack and Sharon before the congregation; he and Bev had prayed that the news would not spread. So far, in the month since the facts had come out, no one outside those immediately concerned had found out.

Lee spoke about the purpose of church discipline: the hope that confrontation would lead to repentance and ultimately to restitution. Finally, he told the congregation that Jack and Sharon had committed adultery and had not responded to repeated confrontations. They were being suspended from the fellowship. He asked members to pray for them.

After the meeting was over, the members went out into the foyer and talked about everything under the sun except what had just taken place. Lee was delighted by the awkward avoidance of the one topic everybody, obviously, was thinking of.

He was even more delighted by the response of Jack and Sharon when he talked to them the next day. Both were shocked. They could not believe he had actually taken their case before the congregation. They were flabbergasted to learn they could no longer be a part of the church fellowship. But neither one was angry. Rather, they were ready to repent at once. The thought of being alienated from the church’s fellowship was really painful to them. They did love the Lord and love his people. They had simply wanted to have their cake and eat it too-to commit adultery and yet enjoy the warmth of Christian fellowship. Up to now it had not hit them that they would not be allowed to do that.

Lee had seen too many flip-flops to be ready to embrace their repentance immediately. He gave them a month. “Prove to me for thirty days that you can keep away from each other.” But this time he felt a very real difference in attitudes, especially in Sharon. She began to despise Jack, for she felt used.

“I think in Jack spiritual motives were the key in repenting,” says Lee now. “He told me later he was really afraid he would lose his salvation. I’m a Calvinist, so I don’t quite know what to think of that. But there it was. Sharon I suspect was moved by more practical motives. I think she finally saw that she wasn’t going to be allowed to get what she wanted-that all her determination was useless. As soon as she saw that, she was ready to change. And she was ready for real spiritual change, too.” Small children do not learn not to steal through moral argumentation: they learn first, through punishment, that crime does not pay. Sharon was in some ways still a child.

Lee encouraged one family to attend the morning church service, the other the evening. With the strong physical attraction Jack and Sharon felt, it seemed wiser for them to keep out of each other’s sight. Lee also encouraged both families to begin visiting a Christian counselor he knew in Pineview.

When the month was over, Lee worked closely with both of them to prepare a statement for the congregation, a statement that did not mince words-he particularly wanted them to use the word adultery instead of some euphemism-and yet did not say too much. He planned the order of events very carefully. After the Sunday evening service, visitors were again excused, and after a short introduction Sharon came in to make her confession. She wore a spaghetti strap sundress, Bev remembers, cut low-a dress most women would not wear to confess adultery. But what she had written was sincere. The words came out of her throat grudgingly. She said what she had done, and she asked forgiveness.

Lee then asked the couple who had been counseling them to pray for Sharon and Dennis. After that, Lee invited members of the congregation to come forward and express anything they wanted to. Everybody came, as if for a receiving line, giving words of encouragement, hugs, and tears.

Dennis and Sharon left, and Jack and Georgina, who had been waiting in the office, came out. Jack’s confession, though in his own words, was similar to Sharon’s. He had it written on a three-by-five card. He would look down at it, take a breath, and choke out a little more. Then he would look down again. After he was done, Georgina stood beside him, and the church prayed for them. Then, again, tears and hugs and words of welcome.

* * *

A few months after the confession, Jack and Georgina got a chance to move closer to family on the West Coast, and they did so. Dennis and Sharon stayed in Pineview longer, but in a year Dennis’s company transferred him to Omaha. Lee and Bev keep infrequent contact with both couples now. Their marriages have lasted, and they have apparently gone on in their Christian faith with real sincerity.

“I think of them as very fortunate people,” Lee says. “In 99 percent of such situations, they would have come apart. We just poured everything we had into them. Perhaps we were too involved. But it worked.

“It’s not my normal pattern to be confrontive. I believe some pastors could find confrontations like that a piece of cake. But I’ve never been excited about it. The real temptation was to be passive, to do nothing. After all, you think, It’s their decision. What can I do to stop them?

“But we just would not let go of them. I can’t help thinking that’s what the church ought to do. How many marriages, if they had that kind of support from people willing to give their lives to make it work, would find the strength to keep trying?”

Lee and Bev have since moved on to a larger church in Illinois; they have seen other cases of church discipline, and cases where it was lacking. “When there was clear, loving confrontation, healing followed,” he says. “Where a pastor was unwilling to confront a powerful member of the church, a festering wound was allowed to continue, and you could never have a therapeutic healing.”

Lee admits, though, that it is far less easy to intervene in a church of three hundred than it was in a church of seventy-five, for a leader simply knows the people less and has less time to give them. What shape would church discipline take in a congregation numbering in the thousands? He does not pretend to know. What he does feel very strongly is that church discipline is not something to be dodged. It is meant to be done, for the good of the body of Christ. When done in love, it can restore rather than destroy.

Tim Stafford is a free-lance writer in Santa Rosa, California.

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

The Ministry of Small Talk

My pastor, during my adolescent years, came often to our home. After a brief and awkward interval, he always said, “And how are things in your SOUL today?” (He always pronounced “soul” in capital letters).

I never said much. I was too intimidated. The thoughts and experiences that filled my life in those years seemed small potatoes after that question. I knew, of course, that if I ever wanted to discuss matters of SOUL, I could go to him. But for everything else, I would probably do better with someone who wouldn’t brush aside as worldly vanity what it felt like to get cut from the basketball varsity, someone who wouldn’t pounce with scary intimations of hellfire on the thoughts I was having about Marnie Schmidt, the new girl from California.

Pastoral work, I learned later, is that aspect of Christian ministry that specializes in the ordinary. It is the nature of pastoral life to be attentive to, immersed in, and appreciative of the everyday texture of people’s lives-the buying and selling, the visiting and meeting, the going and coming. There are also crisis events to be met: birth and death, conversion and commitment, baptism and Eucharist, despair and celebration. These also occur in people’s lives and, therefore, in pastoral work. But not as everyday items.

Most people, most of the time, are not in crisis. If pastoral work is to represent the gospel and develop a life of faith in the actual circumstances of life, it must learn to be at home in what novelist William Golding has termed the “ordinary universe”-the everyday things in people’s lives-getting kids off to school, deciding what to have for dinner, dealing with the daily droning complaints of work associates, watching the nightly news on TV, making small talk at coffee break.

Small talk. The way we talk when we aren’t talking about anything in particular, when we don’t have to think logically, or decide sensibly, or understand accurately. The reassuring conversational noises that make no demands, inflict no stress. The sounds that take the pressure off. The meandering talk that simply expresses what is going on at the time. My old pastor’s refusal (or inability) to engage in that kind of talk implied, in effect, that most of my life was being lived at a subspiritual level. Vast tracts of my experience were “worldly,” with occasional moments qualifying as “spiritual.” I never questioned the practice until I became a pastor myself and found that such an approach left me uninvolved with most of what was happening in people’s lives and without a conversational context for the actual undramatic work of living by faith in the fog and the drizzle.

Impatient with the ordinary

Given a choice between heated discussion on theories of the Atonement and casual banter over the prospects of the coming Little League season, I didn’t hesitate. It was the Atonement every time. If someone in the room raised questions of eschatology, it wasn’t long before I was in the thick of the talk, but if conversation dipped to the sale on radial tires at the local dealer’s, my attention flagged. I substituted meaningless nods and grunts while looking for a way to disengage myself and get on to a more urgent and demanding meeting of souls. What time did I have for small talk when I was committed to the large message of salvation and eternity? What did I have to do with the desultory gossip of weather and politics when I had “fire in my mouth”?

I know I am not the only pastor who has been ill at ease and impatient with small talk. And I know I am not the only pastor who has rationalized impatience by claiming big-talk priorities of Sermons and Apologetics and Counsel.

The rationalization seems plausible. After spending so much time learning the subtleties of supralapsarianism, surely it is wasteful to talk of the Pittsburgh Pirates. “Redeem the time!” With warehouses of knowledge stored in our brain cells, what business do we have chatting about Cabbage Patch Dolls? If we have any chance at all in setting the agenda for conversation, are we not obligated to make it something spiritually important? And if we can’t set the agenda, isn’t it our task to work the conversation around to what our calling and training have equipped us to bring home to people’s hearts?

The practice of manipulating conversation was widely used among people I respected in my college and seminary years, and I was much influenced by them. Their conviction was that every conversation could be turned, if we were sharp enough, into witness. A casual conversation on an airplane could be turned into an eternity-fraught conversation on the soul. A brief interchange with a filling-station attendant could yield the opening for a “word for Christ.”

Such approaches to conversation left no room for small talk-all small talk was manipulated into big talk: of Jesus, of salvation, of the soul’s condition.

Small talk: a pastoral art

But however appropriate such verbal strategies are for certain instances of witness (and I think there are such instances), as habitual pastoral practice they are wrong. If we bully people into talking on our terms, if we manipulate them into responding to our agenda, we do not take them seriously where they are: in the ordinary and the everyday.

Nor are we likely to become aware of the tiny shoots of green grace that the Lord is allowing to grow in the back yards of their lives. If we avoid small talk, we abandon the very field in which we have been assigned to work. Most of people’s lives is not spent in crisis, not lived at the cutting edge of crucial issues. Most of us, most of the time, are engaged in simple, routine tasks, and small talk is the natural language. If pastors belittle it, we belittle what most people are doing most of the time, and the gospel is misrepresented.

“Lord, how I loathe big issues!” is a sentence I copied from one of C. S. Lewis’s letters and have kept as a reminder. He was reacting to pretentiousness that only sees significance in the headlines-in the noisy and the large. Lewis warned of the nose-in-the-air arrogance that is oblivious to the homely and the out-of-the-way, and therefore misses participating in most of the rich reality of existence.

Pastors especially, since we are frequently involved with large truths and are stewards of great mysteries, need to cultivate conversational humility. Humility means staying close to the ground (humus), to people, to everyday life, to what is happening with all its down-to-earthness.

I do not want to be misunderstood: pastoral conversation should not bound along on mindless clich‚s like gutter water. What I intend is that we simply be present and attentive to what is there conversationally, as respectful of the ordinary as we are of the critical. Some insights are only accessible while laughing. Others arrive only by indirection. Art is involved here. Art means that we give ourselves to the encounter, to the occasion, not condescendingly and not grudgingly but creatively. We’re not trying to make something happen but to be part of what is happening-without being in control of it and without it being up to the dignity of our office.

Such art develops better when we are convinced that the Holy Spirit is “beforehand” in all our meetings and conversations. I don’t think it is stretching things to see Jesus-who embraced little children, which so surprised and scandalized his followers-also embracing our little conversations.

We mount our Sinai pulpits week by week and proclaim the gospel in what we hope is the persuasive authority of “artful thunder” (Emerson’s phrase). When we descend to the people on the plain, a different artfulness is required, the art of small talk.

-Eugene H. Peterson

Bel Air, Maryland

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

Pleasing God & Pleasing People

A Pasadena pastor talks about parallel loyalties — and what he does when they collide.

When Paul Cedar was a boy growing up in the Presbyterian manse of Howard Lake, Minnesota, he never saw his father leave the yard without a coat and tie unless there was a work day at the church. The pastoral image was visible, distinct, decorous at all times.

The son entered his father’s vocation during his senior year at Northern State College in Aberdeen, South Dakota, when he took his first pastorate. It was a small-town Methodist congregation of fifteen souls founded by George McGovern’s father.

He has since ministered in many contexts: directing Youth for Christ in Cedar Rapids, Iowa; serving a small Evangelical Free church in the Chicago suburb of Naperville while finishing seminary (Northern Baptist); managing crusades for the Billy Graham Association; pioneering an Evangelical Free church in Yorba Linda, California; becoming executive pastor of the prestigious Hollywood Presbyterian Church . . . and since 1981, leading Pasadena’s Lake Avenue Congregational Church as senior pastor.

He talked recently with LEADERSHIP Senior Editor Dean Merrill about the role and lifestyle in which he’s been immersed since birth.

What is the difference between the pastoral role in Northville, South Dakota, where you started, and the high-octane atmosphere of Los Angeles?

Not as much as you might think. One of the great things about rural America is that people expect you to be authentic. If you’re not, they recognize you from afar.

My role here is the same as it was there: to be authentic and loving, to care for people, and to be concerned for spiritual growth. I remember the excitement we all felt in Northville the first Sunday a couple of children came for Sunday school. Those people hadn’t heard little voices in that building for years. The Lord gave us some wonderful growth that year, and I was as excited then as I am now about what God is doing here.

The joy for anyone who has a pastor’s heart is to see growth in people’s lives and to see people come to faith in Christ. If God called me back to a smaller church, I would not count it a demotion. The bottom line of life is whether I am faithful in doing the will of God.

Although God’s expectations may be constant . . . people’s vary, don’t they?

Yes. One of the refreshing things about southern California is that expectations are not so sharply defined here. I can be much more casual in my dress than my father ever was, for example. I am more relaxed and have more freedom in my personal life than I had in the Midwest.

What if you were to move back?

When I was young, I used to say I knew the Lord was going to call me to Chicago some day because I despised it so much. Well, as a matter of fact, some of the happiest years of our lives were spent in the Chicago area.

The key to fulfillment for me is God’s call to serve in a given place. If I have that, the dress code or whatever is secondary. Part of the joy of ministry is to be sensitive to the people God has called you to serve and to recognize their expectations-but not be enslaved by them. It’s a dual sensitivity: to the Holy Spirit and to the congregation.

Have you read Dress for Success?

Yes.

What did you think of it?

I had mixed emotions, because I personally believe God created each of us to be individuals. I’m not so interested in clothes that control people as in identifying with people and being sensitive to them.

On a flight last week, the man next to me asked, after we had talked quite a while, what I did. (I never volunteer that information unless someone asks, because I seem to get one of two reactions. Either a halo sprouts about six inches above the person’s head as he recounts how his great-grandfather was a Methodist minister-it’s amazing how many millions of Americans are descendants of Methodist ministers! Or else a shield goes up, and the person immediately backs away.)

This gentlemen was a bit different, though. He looked astonished and then said, “I would never have guessed. I would have taken you for one of those wealthy oil men!”

I laughed and thanked him for his compliment. What made it all the better was that I don’t buy expensive clothes. They usually come from a discount house or Sears. In this church we range from upper-class people to the poorest of poor, and I believe it’s appropriate for me to dress somewhere in the middle.

Certain parts of our area are extremely label-conscious. But Pasadena is a conservative pocket for some reason. The traditional Ivy League style has been the code for thirty years and probably will be for another thirty. I had to go through a little transition when I came here from even a short distance away.

What helped shape your values about style and image as a young minister?

I was twenty-three years old when I began working with the Graham organization as a crusade associate, traveling, making arrangements with church leaders in various cities-both lay and clergy. I soon came to see that many were in places of leadership simply because of politics. They had fought their way up, and the life of the Spirit-the Philippians 2 kind of characteristics-were often absent.

When you’re the pastor of a church, you can get spoiled by having your own way so often. But put together a committee of five or six pastors in the same city, and some intriguing dynamics come to light. Not everyone can have his own way. I began to notice two kinds of committee members: the dear servants of Christ who would do anything that needed to be done regardless of who got the glory, and the people you never saw until Billy arrived in town. Suddenly, there they were, on his right and his left, like James and John.

Watching all this as a young man, I was tempted to become cynical. It eventually drove me to my knees to say, “Lord, by your grace, don’t ever let me fall into that syndrome. Spare me forever from the politics of the church.”

I am deeply committed to the principle that the Lord does the promoting. The only reason I am here today is that he has called me to be here. I haven’t earned this pulpit, and I do not want to be here one day longer or shorter than God wants me to be.

But your “career,” if I may call it that, has followed a normal rise.

Do you know what? In all the years of ministry, I have never moved on to the next position without taking a cut in income. The only raises I’ve ever gotten have been during a tenure, not at the change points.

And that has not been because I was making desperation moves. In fact, I’ve never left a place of ministry I didn’t love and regret leaving.

I don’t mention this as any kind of complaint; Lake Avenue is very generous with me, and I’m grateful. I just think this has been God’s way of keeping me honest and making sure I accepted positions because of his calling rather than because of finances.

Do you bend over backwards to prevent certain impressions as a pastor? Are you concerned, for example, not to appear financially strapped, or financially well-heeled?

Jesus warned in the Sermon on the Mount against parading our piety. Such things as prayer, fasting, meditation on the Word, and generosity in giving are specifically mentioned. I feel the same is true about lifestyle. Some members of this church who work at the U.S. Center for World Mission are simple-lifestyle people; I honor them. In fact, I consider myself a simple-lifestyle person. But I also belong to the Pasadena Rotary Club, and I want to relate to those men where they are, not where I want them to be.

In all of this, I want to be authentic-not acting one way when I’m at the Rotary Club, another way when I’m shopping, another way with the congregation, and another way when I’m talking to LEADERSHIP.

But do you really have the option here, in a metropolitan church of more than three thousand, to live a simple lifestyle?

I suppose it depends on one’s definition of the term. But my answer is yes. I’ll illustrate by telling you how we chose our house.

Lake Avenue Church has tremendous variations sociologically; it’s not a homogeneous unit. So when we began house-hunting, we prayed that the Lord would guide us to something we could use for ministry, something that would not be a barrier either to the San Marino people or the other extreme.

We ended up just a mile and a half from the church, in an integrated neighborhood. Deborah, our daughter, goes to a school three blocks away that is two-thirds nonwhite. We aren’t just enduring the location; we’re enjoying it thoroughly. It’s a big old house built in l927, and we’re fixing it up little by little.

If I went out and bought a Cadillac or a Mercedes, many people in the church would be disappointed or even angry. That’s not a temptation to me, number one because I wouldn’t care for that kind of car, but number two because I don’t want to obstruct the ministry. So I lease a midsize car, a Buick Century.

As Paul said, I’m free to do all things. But I have made myself a servant of the people.

You can always barge ahead and let the chips fly. As someone said, “It’s much easier to get forgiveness than permission!” You can always apologize later. But I’d rather be sensitive to the people and not violate their sense of values.

What if their sense of values is warped? What’s the most unreasonable expectation ever laid on you?

About the fourth or fifth day I was in the full-time ministry, Jeanie and I were trying to find a place to rent in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. We were both twenty-one, she was into her first pregnancy and not feeling well, the weather was hot and muggy, and we had almost no salary to work with.

We were very discouraged-when someone came up with a marvelous idea: How about the mobile home park just outside the city? We went and looked-it was the perfect solution. We’d have all the furnishings we needed, it was affordable, and the surroundings were lovely. We put our money down. The next day we would be back to unload our U-Haul trailer.

That evening, the vice-chairman of the board called the home where we were staying. He’d heard about our decision, and he absolutely went through the ceiling. Back in Chicago where he’d come from, mobile homes were for carnival people and all sorts of fly-by-night types. It was exactly the wrong image for the Youth for Christ director. He demanded we back out of the deal.

Jeanie and I prayed and finally decided if we could get our deposit money back, we would concede. The owners were very gracious, and a couple of days later we did find an apartment.

Today, I certainly wouldn’t respond that way. By this point in my ministry, I’ve learned that most places have a handful of vocal people who have learned to get their way by shouting. The most loving, God-honoring thing is not to allow them to prevail.

If there was a consensus in a church, a widespread feeling that the pastor should not live in a mobile home, then I would be sensitive to that. But not to one or two strong voices wanting their own way.

You’ve touched an area that affects not only the pastor but the pastor’s family. How do your three children feel about the expectations of pastoral life?

Dan is now twenty-three, in his first year at Fuller; Mark, twenty, is a junior at Cal State LA; and Debbie will be seventeen next week. I think they all have very positive feelings about the ministry.

They especially appreciated the close attention and stroking they received when we were in smaller churches. The last two places, however, have been large congregations, and our kids have not been ministered to in the same way as when they were in the mainstream. The Sunday morning crowds here don’t often get to know my family. That means less attention, but it also means more freedom for them to be themselves. The expectations are not as clearly defined.

We’ve tried to raise our children the way I was raised as a PK, which was in freedom to be whatever God wanted me to be. I never remember my father saying, “Because I’m the pastor, you must do such-and-such.” It was always, “Because Jesus is your Lord and you’re following him, here is the Christian lifestyle.” My deepest desire for my family is that each one know and do the will of God; we behave differently because we’re committed to Christ, not because of what Dad does.

Even in the little things? Have there been times, for example, when their attendance at something was gently urged because their last name was Cedar?

I honestly am not aware of any. There may have been some, but if so, they were few and far between.

Maybe it’s just been that my style of ministry emphasizes love and openness, and the more legalistic, demanding people seem to drift away from my congregations!

There have been several times over the years when I have said to someone, “I love you, and I respect your expectations, but I want you to know neither I nor my family can live up to them. We’re committed to be faithful to the Lord, and when all of life is over, I want to be able to say we have been faithful to God’s will, but that’s as much as I can promise.”

Can you recall a specific issue?

About the third Sunday we were in Illinois, I shared from the pulpit a need I was facing in my own life. I don’t even remember now what it was, but I asked for their prayers.

On the way out, a dear lady stopped to shake her finger at me and say, “Pastor, don’t you ever mention again from the pulpit that you have problems. Pastors aren’t supposed to have problems! You’re going to destroy my faith.”

I smiled at her and said, “Dear sister, if your faith is dependent upon my not having problems or needs, you’re in serious trouble. We’d better have a little chat.”

Which we did. We became very good friends, despite her traditional background where pastors were considered perfect. She turned out to be a gentle, gracious Christian woman when confronted with love and a little humor.

There’s no way I can live up to the expectations of all the people who call Lake Avenue their church home. I’ve said that publicly: my goal is not to live up to people’s expectations but the Lord’s, and I want everyone in the church family to have that same freedom. Now a part of that is accountability, and if someone thinks I’m straying to the left or the right of what God wants me to be, I welcome their counsel. I believe very deeply in accountability, but I can’t fulfill everyone’s expectations.

How often can you do what you did that Sunday morning in Illinois without losing the respect and confidence of the congregation?

The basic problem is not frequency; it’s style. I agree, the pulpit is not a place to ventilate. If you unload on people, whether you do it once or twenty times, you are squandering confidence. What I’m talking about is setting an atmosphere of bearing one another’s burdens and so fulfilling the law of Christ. We need to encourage one another in our spiritual growth.

Naturally I’m not going to stand up and verbalize inappropriate things-a problem one of my children is having, for example. But if I sense, let’s say, a dryness in my personal prayer life, it doesn’t tear down the congregation for me to talk about it. In fact, it brings people out of the woodwork saying, “Thanks for sharing that. I needed to know I’m not the only one.”

I have apologized to a congregation at various times when I felt I had fallen short or sinned against them. Apologies need to be directed to the people against whom you’ve sinned, so that means you don’t go public with everything. But there are times when it is wonderfully healing and moving to do so. It has been a catalyst the Spirit has used to accomplish similar breakthroughs in other people’s lives.

In days gone by, pastors were known for their sobriety. These days a pastor is often expected to be witty and engaging, even the life of the party. Is this kind of thing on your mind very much?

Yes, there’s the temptation to try to impress, to be witty; I face it myself. Because we pastors are up front all the time, we get accustomed to people listening to us, and that tempts us toward egotism. It’s sadly fascinating, in fact, to watch a pastors’ meeting; the vying for attention is intense.

My view of the biblical model for pastors is the servant; thus, effective pastoring is not high-profile but low-profile.

What drives pastors in this direction, almost to the point of presiding over groups and gatherings?

That’s the right word-presiding. It’s because our models are the wrong models. We subconsciously copy the entertainer model or the politician model. We get into a meeting, and we just have to dominate.

If I were counseling such a person, I’d look for roots of insecurity, wouldn’t I? That’s often the root in leaders as well; many churches assume the pastor must be in control and if he’s not, trouble is imminent. The Bible, on the other hand, seems to indicate that the Spirit of God is to be the one in control. That may sound pious, I suppose, but it is the teaching of Scripture.

I find God convicting me at times in social situations when I’m dominating without even realizing it. The Holy Spirit draws me back and says, Do you realize what you’re doing? If I am guided by the Spirit, my mouth will be open at the right times and closed at the right times, and I won’t need to dominate anyone.

You certainly believe, though, that God has called you to lead, to give direction.

I do. Servant leadership is not being a milquetoast. The servant leader is first of all the servant of Christ and thus has a strong conviction about what Christ wants done. He blows the trumpet like a prophet of old, but in a spirit of humility.

I know of no passage of Scripture that makes pastors more uncomfortable than 1 Corinthians 11:1, where Paul says, “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.” That’s frightening. But the focus of a servant leader is precisely that. He is always pointing past himself to the Master. It’s an exciting, yet challenging model.

The mark of an effective pastor is how well the church would continue if the Lord took the pastor home today. If the church has been built on biblical concepts and keyed not to any human being but to the Lord himself, it will do very well.

A seminary department chairman once said to me, “You know, we are equipping most of our young pastors to be certain failures in the ministry.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“We use superpastors as the primary models-leaders with unusual gifts, people who instinctively know how to do the very thing Jesus warned against in Matthew 20. He said the Gentiles were good at lording authority over people, while he called us to find greatness in serving.”

I pray I will never be a superpastor and that Lake Avenue Congregational Church will never be a superchurch. People say, “Well, then you’d better stop drawing crowds, because you’re large enough now for that status.” A superchurch is not a matter of size but of mentality. Some churches of two and three hundred have the superchurch mentality, and I am determined to go the other way.

One of my major assignments in becoming pastor here has been to meet all the power blocs and lovingly but firmly dissolve them to the glory of God. The power needed to be restored to the Lord himself. It has happened here in a most wonderful way.

Many pastors would rather avoid that part of the role. How have you managed it?

The truth is that many people who wield power in the local church don’t even know they have it. They’ve just usurped it over the years, and if they are spiritually minded at all, they are shocked when you lovingly call it to their attention. They are more than willing to allow Jesus to be Lord.

This church tried several times over a twenty-year period to reorganize. There was tremendous resistance each time. One of the great gifts Ray Ortlund gave me when he left was to say to the membership, “For the sake of your new pastor, you must go through some reorganization.” So they appointed a committee …

… And when I arrived, the committee was deadlocked. It had divided into three camps.

“What do you think we ought to do?” they asked.

“Well,” I said, “how about giving me six months to experience the present structure? Rather than just reading about it and looking at the chart, let me feel the reality of it. Then let’s come together again, and I think I’ll be ready with some recommendations. I’ll also have time to seek the Lord’s guidance.”

Six months later, we had unanimity on a process to pursue toward reorganization. Now remember, this is a large congregational church; Lyle Schaller says the larger the church, the more difficult it is for the congregational form of government to operate. That’s absolutely true. It can work effectively, but you have to plan open and honest processes by which people can discern the will of God.

So we had a public meeting. We laid out the process to be followed. Then I made a bold statement. I said, “Brothers and sisters, I’ve been told that some in this church are in the habit of not participating in the process and then coming to final business meetings and blowing things out of the water. I don’t know any names, and I don’t care to know. My guess is that most of you have not done so in malice; you’re not even particularly aware that this has been your strategy.

“But I want to go on public record now that if you attempt such action this time, you will have to fight me every inch of the way. I will stand before the congregation and call you to accountability. You can no longer by-pass the opportunities to share your heart, to pray together, to be used of the Lord to give guidance and counsel through the process-and then show up at the end for a power play. I love you all, and I intend for us to go through this reorganization together.”

We went through the months of opening our hearts to the Lord, and when the final night came, there was not one negative vote. And it was not railroaded through. It affirmed my belief that the way for the church to be led is on our knees. I don’t want anyone to get his or her own way. I want us to get God’s way.

You must have done some mediation en route.

Certainly. We had disagreement, for example, on the role of women in the church. People had very strong feelings on both sides. At one point I said, “Instead of arguing about this any more, let’s do some honest, open Bible study on the question. I’ll do a series of messages, and then let’s have some question-and-answer time following. In the end, we may have to agree to disagree, but we will have made an attempt to understand what God is saying to us. And we may also have to admit that some truths in Scripture are not as clear as we thought they were.”

God took us through that in a wonderful way. There are still two camps on that issue. A strong group of people disagree with me as their pastor, but they love and respect me still, and I love and respect them. We don’t keep hanging the matter over each other’s heads.

How do you deal with people’s expectations regarding access to you? This is a large congregation, and people expect to be able to get to you.

You’ve just touched the most painful reality of my life.

Here’s how I deal with it: I have a policy that I will never refuse to see anyone who’s part of the church family. The problem is when they’ll get to see me. My regularly scheduled appointments are now filled six weeks ahead.

We do have a “pastor of the day” system, so that one of the staff is always available for emergencies. My secretary is very gifted in helping people who call, guiding them to the pastor on duty. No one is turned away.

Meanwhile, I’ve noticed a couple of interesting things. Some of the fringe people can be the most demanding. They not only want to see me but they want to see me at 6:30, right after they get off work. Well, I try to be as available as I can but not to infringe upon my family or my other work. Part of the strategy of Satan is to weigh pastors down with all kinds of guilt from these kinds of people.

The freedom I have in the Spirit is that I commit every day of my life to the Lord. Part of my morning prayer is this: “Lord, make me open and available to every person you want me to see today, and protect me from every person I need to be protected from. Oversee the day; cause cancellations and schedule changes; arrange chance meetings in the hall, whatever it takes in order that I minister to those you want me to see today.” I could tell some amazing stories of how God has answered that prayer.

The people who are willing to wait six weeks are almost without exception those with a legitimate reason to see me. As you know, there are few authentic emergencies in life. The people who wait for a scheduled appointment almost always have substantive things to discuss.

Do you ever find yourself avoiding contact with people you might naturally like to be with-the kindred spirits-for fear it will look like favoritism?

Not really. My father and mother were always sensitive about that, so much that they had few close friends. I resolved to handle that differently in my ministry, because I need close friends.

The only constraint is time. For the first two and a half years here, we did almost no choosing on our own; we simply accepted invitations! Only recently have we been able to shape our own social schedule.

The two nights for getting together with friends are Thursdays and Fridays. We’ve decided we will make engagements for only one of the two; the other is a family night. We’ve had a family night ever since the children were small.

Does a pastor need to project a certain level of enthusiasm in order to lead a congregation?

Very definitely-but it must be the authentic enthusiasm of the Spirit. People know when we’ve been with Jesus and when we haven’t. People can tell when we’re trying to drum up enthusiasm and when we’re motivated by the Holy Spirit.

That’s why I go ahead and say to the congregation at times, “I want you to recognize the difference between the Paul Cedar who’s living in the flesh and the Paul Cedar who’s motivated by the Holy Spirit. Whenever you see me living in the flesh, I want you lovingly but firmly to call me to accountability. I do not want to be that kind of leader.”

To me, that’s the difference between the enthusiastic Peter who whisked off the servant’s ear and the Peter who stood on the Day of Pentecost.

What does this mean practically? You’re in a missions emphasis this week in the church, and I’m sure you want certain things to happen, certain funds to be raised. It takes some drive to bring that to pass. At what point does it turn into cheerleading?

I do not want anything for this church except as God wants it. And one of the ways God keeps us honest is by how much he moves the hearts of his people to give. I will share the financial needs very clearly this week, neither minimizing nor exaggerating. But from that point, it’s up to the Spirit.

I take very seriously the passage in 1 Corinthians 13 that says I can do right things for the wrong motive, and it profits nothing in the kingdom of God. If Lake Avenue Church gives all its money to feed the poor but not because of love-if rather because the pastor has manipulated, or because of guilt, or pride-it’s worthless.

When I guide people to listen to the Spirit, I find I need to do very little motivating. In fact, most of them seem to pass me on the curve somewhere; they start calling on me to extend our vision and take on greater challenges.

But if I’ve come up with a plan that is not the will of God, the Spirit seems to shut down the supply of funds.

We had a situation here regarding remodeling the sanctuary. There were three opinions: those who wanted major renovation so we could stay here forever, those who felt we should build a new sanctuary and therefore didn’t want to spend on this one, and those (including me) in the middle who wanted to do a minimal amount while we studied where the Lord was taking us as a church.

In the end, we allowed the first group to make a presentation and then asked the people to give. We got an interesting result. The first group didn’t seem to pull out all the financial stops after all. We ended up raising enough money for the middle approach, and I didn’t have to do any “cheerleading,” as you say.

Now if I feel people are resisting the Holy Spirit and closing their hearts, I won’t hesitate to move in and call them to repentance. That’s a spiritual problem. But I find the Holy Spirit can motivate people to give a lot more than I can, and that’s what I keep seeking.

How candid can a pastor afford to be when a guest speaker doesn’t do real well? Must you protect the ministerial image at all costs?

We had a situation like that not long ago, where a speaker wasn’t nearly as strong as I had expected. I said nothing to embarrass him, of course, but later on I did comment to the congregation, “You remember when so-and-so was here, and he said such-and-such. I’m aware as you are that that wasn’t his best day-we all have days like that-but I hope you’ll hear the significance of what God said through him, namely. … “

That lets the people know I’m a realist but also serves to build up rather than tear down.

What about when you have a bad day?

My most painful experiences have been when I’ve had a problem and no one loved me enough to tell me about it. I could feel something was wrong, the walls were up, but I didn’t know what.

We seldom do people a favor by trying to spare their feelings from the truth. I never want my staff to kowtow or to talk behind my back about something I need to know. I never want them to feel that if they share something with me, their job is on the line.

That’s as true with staff members as with your children: when you provide the opportunity for people to be honest and open with you about negative things, they seldom need to use it. Things seldom build up to that point.

What if you know what you did wrong or poorly? When do you speak up, and when do you let sleeping dogs lie?

I did something last week that’s never happened in twenty-five years of ministry: I disciplined a staff member in front of the rest of the team and also the major officers of the church. In fact, I got angry. The person had done something out of line in a context that was awkward for me to correct. And in the heat of emotion, I unleashed a public rebuke.

That was on a Wednesday night. I left the meeting feeling totally down. Within a couple of days, I knew I could not wait until our next scheduled meeting a month later. We would have to have another meeting on Sunday.

We got everyone together again, and I said, “In twenty-five years of ministry I have never done what I did the other night, and I ask your forgiveness. I am very, very sorry. I hope it will never happen again.

“Secondly, I want to explain the dynamics of why it happened so you can help me.

“Third, I’d like to share what I think are some positive benefits that have come about, even though I am sorry for the negative effects. This doesn’t justify what I did; it simply illustrates God’s grace.”

We ended up on our knees together, broken before God. I also spent five hours alone with that staff member, working through some needful things for his sake and the sake of the whole ministry team.

We often hear, “Don’t talk where you haven’t walked.” But when you have to preach every Sunday, do you find yourself preaching biblical truths that haven’t always been fully internalized in your own life?

Yes, unfortunately. For example, I carry a great desire that we will be a praying church, and I speak about it often. Yet my own prayer life is still in process. It’s not all I want it to be.

It’s helpful for people to know that when my alarm goes off at 5:33 or whenever, I have the same struggle getting out of bed that they do. This is a means of encouraging them.

I’ve shared that my efforts to memorize Scripture over the years have usually not succeeded when I’ve done it alone; it works best when I commit to doing it with someone else. We help each other.

This is Paul’s whole philosophy in Philippians 3 of pressing on, never having attained, always reaching upward. I can’t imagine anyone wanting a pastor who thinks he’s arrived in every area of his Christian life.

At the same time, I must warn against the syndrome of glorying in failure. I’ve been some places where the hero was the person who failed most that week. That’s what Bonhoeffer would call cheap grace, I think. We don’t need to wallow in self-depreciation.

What mental image do you hope people carry of Paul Cedar?

I am certainly no model for authenticity, but it is my deepest desire to follow Christ with all my heart and not to play games, not to have a secret life.

Someone told me as a boy that when you tell the truth, you never have to remember what you said. The same is true of living.

If I carry any kind of “presence” into a room, I want it to be the presence of the Holy Spirit. The world doesn’t need any more false leaders. I don’t want to guide young men and women into the ministry to become Paul Cedars. I want to guide them to become more and more like Christ.

The life of authenticity is contingent upon being transparent before God. And that’s the key to humility. Humility is not having an inferiority complex-something I suffered for years. I went through the pain of thinking that in order to be spiritual, I had to be a worm. Authentic biblical humility is seeing myself as God sees me and knowing I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

I know I’m not qualified to be the pastor of this church. I do not have all it needs. But if I walk in the Spirit, I can be effective here.

Back when I was being interviewed as a twenty-one-year-old in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, a godly pastor said something I will always be thankful for. “What frightens me about your coming here, Paul,” he said, “is that I think you have all the talents you need to do this job and do it well. And I’m scared to death that’s what you’re going to do.”

I didn’t quite know how to take that.

Then he continued, “What I wish for you is a job where you know you don’t have all the talents, so you have to depend on the Holy Spirit and stretch beyond yourself.”

That insight has stayed with me. Stretching is another part of the way God keeps us honest. He puts us, like Moses, into situations where we are hopelessly inadequate without him.

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

FOUR LAWS FOR CONFRONTATION

The practice of church discipline as a New Testament ideal is generally and quietly ignored by most of us. Only a crisis made me take my first disciplinary action as a pastor. I did not start with a mental blueprint for how to go about it, and I still feel that sensitivity and flexibility are essential. However, I believe several principles apply to all cases.

1. We must examine our own spiritual well-being. Paul instructs in Galatians 6:1, “You who are spiritual should restore . . . gently.” There is no substitute for spiritual stability and dependence on the Holy Spirit to provide us with the grace to remain firm but gentle.

When Sharon stuck her finger in my face and said, “I’ll ruin you,” I felt genuinely frightened-perhaps more frightened than, looking back, seems realistic. Only by leaning heavily on the Lord could I stand firm while rejecting the temptation to abandon gentleness and respond to her in kind. The cultivation of humility and brokenness before the Lord can guard us from the tendency to become judgmental, callous, and proud. For me, exercising church discipline has always resulted in a greater sense of humility. Knowing the people who have fallen, I have a much stronger sense that nobody stands above temptation. If Sharon had set her sights on seducing me, if I had been lonely and frightened, would I have been able to stand?

2. We must be willing to follow the pattern given us by Jesus Christ in Matthew 18:15-17 by going first privately, then taking a witness, and finally taking the matter before the whole church. If the church family understands that this pattern will be followed, it is a deterrent to the practice of sin.

The Corinthian church ignored this important pattern and was rebuked for it by the apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 5. When we are unwilling to act, the effects on the local church can be devastating.

3. We must remember the goal is repentance and restoration of fellowship. The Corinthian church also had to be reminded in 2 Corinthians 2:5-11 to forgive, comfort, and reaffirm their love for the repentant person. Church discipline is not “shooting the wounded.” Its purpose is redemptive. Many churches fail at this final step of acceptance back into fellowship. Thought must be given to how to encourage loving, caring expressions of forgiveness and support.

4. We must establish the procedures for discipline before a crisis occurs. Church members should know they are spiritually accountable in this and other ways. They should know that the whole church is to watch for and carefully treat diseases that damage our spiritual health.

-Lehman Hotchkiss

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

FROM THE EDITOR

Those of us who write editor’s pages and publisher’s pages read other magazines to see what our counterparts do. James Glassman, publisher of The New Republic, recently gave his readers an insight into what he called “the seamiest part of publishing: direct mail.” I decided I’d do the same for the readers of LEADERSHIP.

We start with a short course in magazine economics:

Say you begin with 1,000 subscribers. If your magazine is unusually well liked, perhaps 60 percent of those subscribers will renew at the end of the first year. (The others got their feelings hurt by something you published, or were just leaving on vacation when the renewal notice arrived and never saw it again, or were broke, or got married to somebody who also had a subscription, or died during the year, or . . .) That leaves you with 600 subscribers. In subsequent years, 75 percent of those readers will renew. If you work out the mathematics of this, in Year Three you’ve got 450 subscribers and in Year Six you’ve got 200. It doesn’t take a Harvard M.B.A. to see you’re going broke.

So the key to magazine economics is to replace the dropout subscribers. That’s where direct mail and other promotions enter. The cheapest promotion is a bind-in card in the magazine itself. Bind-in cards are those heavy paper stock cards that several of you write me each issue to complain about. (I don’t like them either-but they work.)

Large-circulation, general-subject magazines can attract enough new subscribers through mass media such as radio, television, and newspapers to make it pay. Not so special-interest magazines like LEADERSHIP. There are only a limited number of you out there (perhaps 300,000) who want what we provide. So we have to use specially targeted ways to reach you. Our most effective way is to rent mailing lists from other magazines and organizations who know where you are and then send letters asking you to subscribe. Currently we are getting our best responses from lists of Group magazine, Clergy Journal, Wittenburg Door, Eternity, Discipleship Journal, Bible Newsletter, and Word, Inc. (Some of you current subscribers are already on their lists, inevitably-but it often costs more to weed out your names than to mail you superfluous mailings.)

Our next major mailing will come next February, when we will send out 500,000 pieces. That will cost $90,000, about $26,000 of which will go just for postage. We hope to get 6,000 to 8,000 new subscribers from that mailing. We do a mailing like this every January or February, which for unknown reasons are the best months.

The sales pitch is the hard part. Elizabeth Stark of Psychology Today recently asked 500 randomly selected readers, “If you were granted one supernatural power, what would it be?” Their number one response was Reading other people’s minds. Editors and publishers feel the same way when putting together promotional packets.

Naturally, we ought to keep our sales pitches in harmony with the editorial tone of our magazine. But within that boundary, there is a great deal of latitude. LEADERSHIP is a professional journal for local-church leaders that takes a relatively laid-back approach. So in promotion, we need to brag without sounding like we’re bragging. For example, we’d like to tell you that LEADERSHIP was named Periodical of the Year this spring, for the second time in four years, by the Evangelical Press Association. But would you think that too much braggadocio? We’ll probably decide to tell you anyway, rationalizing it as “interesting news.”

We’d also like to tell you how hard we’re working to serve you even more effectively. We plan on starting the Leadership Library this fall. The first book is authored by Associate Editor Marshall Shelley and is titled Well-Intentioned Dragons: Ministering to Problem People in the Church. The books will appear quarterly thereafter, in between the regular issues of LEADERSHIP, and will be sold on a continuing subscription basis. They’ll also be copublished by Word Books. But maybe all this should be said in a separate direct-mail campaign. …

We also want to tell you about our 1985 desk calendar that features LEADERSHIP cartoons. Designed especially for local-church leaders (double space for Sundays), it includes a three-year planner, a sermon log for each week of the year, and many other helpful features. Each weekly spread includes a cartoon from LEADERSHIP, over sixty cartoons in all.

But we don’t want to get pushy. We’ve tried some things that haven’t worked. We put together a direct-mail promotion that featured all the Christianity Today, Inc. magazines (Christianity Today, Campus Life, Partnership, and LEADERSHIP), but it bombed. Apparently our efforts to save money and the deluge on the mailboxes of North America didn’t strike you right. Too many choices? Too much sell? We wish we could read your minds.

We want to keep serving you better through LEADERSHIP and related projects. Direct mail and promotion are essential parts of that, but we never want the material realities of publishing to make us lose sight of our ministry goal. We’re committed to uplifting local-church leaders as they selflessly contribute their considerable gifts to the kingdom. Often a letter arrives at our offices that reinforces that purpose in our minds:

“I might trade salaries with some professionals I know, but I wouldn’t trade jobs with them. Not because being a minister is easy or exciting or glamorous. It isn’t. But because I happen to feel that what I do is important and challenging and worthwhile.”

We agree that what you’re doing is all those things. Anything we can do to help you, we stand ready to do. We’re here to serve you better-even if it means using direct mail.

Terry C. Muck is editor of LEADERSHIP.

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

How to Beat the Youth Ministry Blues

An antidepressant for times when teens skip out, dollars run short, and buses break down.

The decorations were complete. The new washpan for bobbing apples stood full of water. A sack of apples leaned against the wall nearby. Forty bananas lay on the kitchen counter for making banana splits. The buns and chips were stacked high along with cookies and a mountain of soda pop.

Preparations for the all-night party had kept me running all day long. I was expecting about thirty-five teens and four sponsors. Everyone in the youth group had said they would be there, and several had asked if they could bring friends. As the hour drew closer, l began to worry that I might not have enough food. I could hardly resist the urge to run to the grocery store for more bananas.

Two senior high girls showed up and went into the nursery to discuss boys. Two more girls and a boy much younger than the girls came in together. One of the sponsoring couples showed up. And that was it.

Four girls. One boy. Two sponsors. A mountain of food. And me.

So there I was with nearly $150 spent and an activity planned for more than thirty teens. None of my games would work. You can’t run relays with two on a team. The devotional had been planned as a singing and sharing time. Should I send everybody home or what?

I had a bad case of the youth ministry blues.

As I remember that experience, several others come to mind that did not go according to plan. Most were times I did not get a gold star by my name.

There is nothing like sitting in a big McDonald’s for an Early Morning Before School Bible Study (which is supposed to go over great with teens) and having only one teen show up. Whatever happened to the Noon Prayer Meeting phenomenon? I had figured by the third week we would be renting the McDonald’s and perhaps a Hardee’s down the street. Alas, on the third week I was still hearing the same excuses I heard the first week, and attendance had dropped off!

It took me awhile to figure out I was making some of the same simple mistakes each time I planned a program or activity.

First Mistake: Last-Minute Planning

Honestly, I never thought I would be guilty of that. I prepared in advance. I put things on a calendar. Months ahead I knew what we were going to do. But I spent the last hours before the activity putting it together.

Because I was doing the functional planning at the last minute, I had time to plan for only one set of circumstances. I usually planned for the maximum potential that could possibly show up. I put out a lot of feelers, and out of the nebulous I came up with an expectation of who would be there. Then I planned the activity to accommodate that many. I never made an alternate plan to fall back on if things did not go as expected.

I remember the first time I really made an alternate plan. I had written the executive head of our denomination’s department of youth, inviting him to come speak at a banquet. He wrote back and accepted. I wrote him again thanking him for his acceptance. All three letters had the date, time, and place mentioned.

Early in the week of the banquet, I spent an hour drafting a “small talk” just in case he had car trouble during the two-hour drive.

The appointed hour arrived. The guest speaker did not. I called and found he was at home. Wasn’t the banquet next Monday night? He had it right on his calendar, but not in his head.

I never expected him not to show up. But he didn’t, and there was no way to wait on him . . . so we went right on without him. Perhaps the evening wasn’t as great or dynamic, but it wasn’t a failure either.

Second Mistake: Trying to Do It All Myself

Once I worked in a church where the pastor’s wife told me that when her son was a youth minister, “he didn’t need any help. He was so good he could do everything by himself.”

Anyone who works with teens for any length of time will admit that it is a lot safer and sometimes easier to do everything. If you delegate responsibility and depend on young people, they will frequently leave you holding the bag on the proverbial snipe hunt. A sudden biological mood shift or courtship upheaval-and a key teen just will not show up. Can the success or failure of an activity be placed in hands that sometimes drop the ball?

From time to time I find myself doing things the safe way. I go ahead and decorate because “they” don’t want to get out of bed early on Saturday. I plan the refreshments and buy the food. I plan the games, plan the devotion, plan the publicity, and plan on the teens coming.

No wonder I wind up with huge expectations. After all, the planning was so well done! It’s not my fault they didn’t come. But I still walk away mumbling, “How can I get them to come to the next deal?”

Youth ministry involves the dynamics of failed responsibility as well as the joy of shared success. Everything does not depend on my performance. When a young person fails, the other teens and I must work through that and grow from the experience, perhaps more than we can from fulfilled responsibility. It is growth of a different sort.

That is not to say that involving teens works perfectly and cures youth ministry blues. Sometimes, a young person will help plan an activity and accept a part in executing it, but on the actual night . . . he goes out on a date. And there you are.

I have realized that getting teens to come is always going to be something of a problem. They must eventually make the decision, but it helps them decide when they are involved and responsible.

Third Mistake: Spending More Than I Meant To

I have never grossly overestimated the cost of any youth group activity! However, I will never be able to make the opposite statement. It is extremely easy to underestimate the cost of youth programs.

Sitting in McDonald’s by yourself is nothing compared to that sinking feeling when you realize you should have charged every teen sixty-two dollars instead of twenty-seven.

Actually, getting the cost lower has very little to do with a successful youth program. Yet I have spent long discussions on local and district boards trying to make something cheaper. Teens will come up with or earn whatever you ask if they understand why the activity will cost that much. It doesn’t matter if it’s fifty cents for a hot dog or two thousand dollars to go to Israel.

I have spent hours adjusting a retreat schedule so a teen will spend only forty-five dollars instead of sixty. The next week one of the prime families I worried about packed up and went to England for a month.

The first task is to figure out what trips and activities will really cost. The second is not to feel guilty about asking for a little more than that.

The last four years my youth program has had to be 90 percent self-supporting. I have learned from numerous sinking moments that any trip will cost more in reality than it does on paper. Even when I had made the trip before and tried to allow for inflation, I got caught short. During the first two years, my wife had only two questions when I announced an activity: “What will it cost the teens, and how much is it going to cost us?”

Not every teen that signs up to go will show up-and that is planned income spent but not received. Many times the young people have very legitimate excuses, but the result is still Man, are we going to lose money on this one.

A significant advance deposit, or payment in full, one week before the activity makes planning the budget much simpler. Once teens have committed 25 percent of the cost, they are much less likely to back out. Also with advance deposits, I can compare anticipated costs with what I am really going to receive. I know then whether I’m going to have to cut a corner or whether I can relax.

I’ve learned another thing about self-supporting youth ministry: Activities that draw a large number of teens should be planned to do better than break even. A canoe trip that draws outside teens should pay for itself and your Bible study curriculum for a quarter or even a year. An all-night lock-in should make enough to pay for the next banquet’s guest speaker.

Fourth Mistake: Not Keeping the Schedule Given to Parents

Parents do not like to wait. They begin worrying as soon as the group leaves, and it gets worse if you’re not back on time.

“Maybe they had an accident.” “They could have had a flat.” “They could be stuck on the side of the road.” “I wonder why they didn’t call the church and let us know they were going to be late.”

Trust relationships are damaged if the youth minister announces a schedule and then changes it “in flight.”

Most of us say to ourselves, “At fifty-five miles per hour it will take two hours and forty-five minutes to get there. If we leave at 7 A.M., we’ll be there by ten. If we leave at 8 P.M., we’ll be home by eleven.” All that is reasonable and fine in theory.

But the typical summer trip to anywhere goes something like this: At ten minutes before seven, the daughter of a board member calls and is running late. She is leaving for the church “right this minute” and could we please wait? So we roll out at 7:15. We are still on schedule to arrive at ten, but it’s close. At nine o’clock in a distant city a doughnut shop is spotted, and a quick ten-minute stop somehow becomes thirty. To add to our problems, we have picked the day Farmer Brown has chosen to drive his tractor to town. The crawl goes on for miles. After numerous red lights, we arrive at 11:15 A.M.

Soon there is a mass movement to get the youth leader to agree to stay later. After a while, he or she agrees and dutifully calls the church to let them know the group is going to be an hour later than scheduled. All of the parents (hopefully) are notified to be there at midnight instead of eleven.

As it gets close to one in the morning, parents get very worried. Finally at 12:50 A.M. we pull in. What happened? Very nearly a repeat of the morning.

Not everyone got back to the bus on time. An unscheduled stop HAD to be made. You can’t argue too long with biological functions. When we stopped for a minute to allow nature to take its course-somebody ordered a hamburger from the restaurant next to the service station. …

Here are three guidelines I use that help parents avoid worry:

1. Announce the morning departure time about an hour before you absolutely must be on the road. When everybody complains about how early it is, you can move it up thirty minutes. You are still ahead. But do not change any times once they are in print and distributed.

2. Call the church or have the teens call their parents when you have mechanical trouble or are changing the return time.

3. Announce your return time about forty-five minutes later than you really expect to be back. Parents are so happy when you get back early.

The price of freedom is eternal vigilance. Youth ministry also requires a sort of eternal vigilance, but frequently I seem to have . . .

… A Momentary Lapse

“Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water” is the way the producer of Jaws II advertised the movie. Likewise, just when you thought it was safe to take a little nap . . . you can get shark-bit. Usually it’s not too serious, but it can still give you the youth ministry blues. You can go around for several days asking yourself, “Is this the thanks I get?”

One youth minister with two volunteer sponsors hosted sixty-five teens at an all-night party. Along about 2 A.M. everybody seemed to run out of steam as far as the planned agenda was concerned. The youth minister decided it was pointless to keep trying with everybody going to sleep. So he announced they could lie down or talk quietly. Considering the hour and the circumstances, it seemed like a good plan.

But as Private Pyle would say, “Surprise, surprise.”

Sunday morning there was a huge hole in the sanctuary ceiling where one of the teens had stepped through the Sheetrock while walking on the rafters . . . playing chase in the attic. Luckily he had not fallen all the way through and landed on the pews below.

The major topics for discussion at Sunday dinner were: (1) What were the teens doing in the attic? and (2) Where was the youth minister?

Spending more than you planned is one thing. Sitting by yourself in McDonald’s is another. But being the roast duck for the congregation’s noonday meal is something else!

Even good kids will get carried away in a loosely structured situation. A clear understanding of expected and prohibited behavior coupled with an adequate teen/adult ratio will reduce the chance of shark bite.

Each one of these:

l. last-minute planning

2. doing it all yourself

3. spending more than you meant to

4. not keeping the schedule you announced

5. a momentary lapse of control

can give you a blue week. And each one can be repeated each time you plan an activity. While they are simple to correct, they deserve constant attention in the planning and implementation of every youth program.

Rickey Short is pastor of First Church of the Nazarene, Waurika, Oklahoma.

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

The Danger of Aiming Too High

What happens to pastors who push themselves harder than God asks.

During the past decade, I’ve counseled scores of pastors whose lives could best be described by Datsun’s phrase We are driven!

Remember the commercials? Little pickups airborne over crests of hills. 280-Z’s eating curves. The advertising agency packed a world of meaning into those three words.

It may be a great slogan for an automaker, but it’s a danger sign for pastors propelled by unrealistic expectations. Many ministers today are headed toward the mental, physical, and spiritual salvage yard because they expect too much of themselves. And most do not have a clear idea of the forces driving them to that tragic end.

Forces on the Accelerator

Part of the problem lies in the nature of the call to the ministry, a call to exemplary conduct as well as unselfish service. Yes, there are legitimate demands upon Christian leaders to model what they preach. Paul’s instructions to Timothy are clear concerning the qualifications of elders and deacons. Yet some pastors take these scriptural foundations and construct an elaborate structure of personal expectations far beyond the Architect’s intention. Not many admit it, but the bottom line they have drawn for themselves comes pretty close to being divine. If they have spiritual doubts or family problems, they feel guilty. Simply put, they do not permit themselves to be human.

Another contributor to a driven life is the nature of helping professions. Trying to preach a sermon of challenge and hope, most pastors are assailed by the faces of people who have confided incredible stories of tragedy and heartache. Pastors can carry heavy loads, but there’s a point at which it becomes too much. Needs of the congregation combine with the pastor’s own need to be needed, pushing the load beyond the breaking point. You can work twenty-four hours a day, and there will always be someone else needing your attention.

Our goal-oriented culture, with its need to succeed, also feeds personal expectations. The pastor slugging away in a one-hundred-member rural church is rarely praised. The good press usually goes to those preaching to big crowds in the city. The small-church pastor thinks, I should be doing that. Unfortunately, many denominational conventions and ministers’ meetings feed the problem by inviting speakers only from large churches who tell the secrets of their success. There’s nothing wrong with telling of God’s blessing, but it can be awfully tough on the pastor struggling in a small church.

But I see the deepest struggle in those facing midlife, those who have been in ministry fifteen to twenty years. Suddenly, it seems, they’re no longer able to bounce back from disappointments. Questions about what they realistically will achieve in the remaining years produce a profound sense of futility and pessimism. In addition, personal needs for intimacy may be catching up with them. They may have been able to deny those needs for a long time by pushing them under a heavy workload and sacrificing family life for “the good of the church.” But now, more than anything else, they’re lonely, and without knowing it, prime candidates for extramarital affairs.

The pastors we counsel at Marble Retreat are, for the most part, somewhere near this point of discouragement and despair. More than half are facing marital difficulties. Others are dealing with a personal or professional crisis. No matter what the problem, an important part of the helping process is working on the pastor’s level of expectations.

Unconscious Motivators

Unlocking the dark closet of unconscious motivators is an important step toward spiritual health. There may be several of these factors at work within us.

Anger. One recently retired pastor came to us because he found himself mistreating and verbally abusing his wife. He desperately wanted to change.

As he told about his family background and years of ministry, a story of hostility and conflict emerged. He was like the man whose army record read, “He fought with General Bradley, General Clark, and General Patton. He couldn’t get along with anyone.” For years he had been at war, sometimes silently, sometimes vocally, with his denominational hierarchy. He usually dealt with it by changing churches, but it was only a matter of time until the problem surfaced again.

Searching for the root of his hostility, he told of growing up in a tough city neighborhood where life was a no-win situation. He never knew when a bigger kid would jump him and take what he had. He had entered the ministry with the idea that all of life was like his neighborhood-people waiting to pounce, and his only defense was to get them first. He had never connected his childhood anger with his distrust and lack of success as a pastor.

Although that same hostility pervaded his marriage, he had developed a defense system to deal with it. During his days of active ministry, he compensated for his unhappiness at home by being a great guy to the people in his congregation and gaining all his emotional support from them. But when he retired, he no longer had that, and the problems at home multiplied.

When he discovered the root of his hostility, he was able to confront it and deal with it. Before that, anger had driven him as an unseen, subconscious tyrant.

Fear. The most common is the fear of rejection. If we fear too much the disapproval of others, then we do not feel free to do anything that might jeopardize their approval.

We falsely assume that most pastors have the advantage of being raised in kind and loving Christian homes. That assumption does great disservice. Many pastors have come from very difficult family backgrounds with rejection or separation playing major roles.

One pastor told of his painful memory at age five of being left on a stranger’s doorstep along with his little brother. His divorced mother abandoned them because her new boyfriend did not like them. He remembers watching her drive away.

That kind of emotional scar often surfaces years later in a fear of separation or death. The pastor who shared that story was driven to try and maintain every relationship so no one would ever leave him again. He found it impossible to say no. He was in agony when someone left his church and joined another. For him to think about leaving his church and accepting another assignment was almost impossible.

Guilt. It makes little difference whether guilt is real or imagined; the impact is the same when it is unresolved. If a pastor lived a worldly, sinful life before coming to Christ, lots of residual guilt can remain. Some pastors have experienced great difficulty applying God’s grace to their own personal load of guilt. In some cases, they may be using the ministry as a means to work out their own atonement.

I’ve encountered other pastors burdened by guilt for things their parents had done. Whether alcoholic fathers or reprobate mothers, the offspring felt they owed a debt to God and humanity for their parents’ sin.

The important thing to remember is that these factors-anger, fear, guilt-operate at the unconscious level. Because they are not readily available to conscious scrutiny, they are relentless taskmasters. They can produce a frenzy of activity, yet leave no trace of the real cause. They are a spiritual carbon monoxide whose presence is usually detected only after it causes sickness or snuffs out a life.

The Road to Healthy Expectations

In the face of these deeply rooted factors, the outlook seems dismal. But I’m not a pessimist. My wife, Melissa, and I spend a great deal of time helping pastors explore practical ways to avoid these emotional dead ends while building healthy expectations.

I suggest four ways to assess your own expectations and to set realistic goals and attain them.

First, get in touch with your own expectations. Take some time to list them on a sheet of paper in different areas of your life. Complete some sentences like:

“In my relationship with my wife, I expect to . . .”

“As a father, I expect myself to . . .”

“As a pastor, I won’t be satisfied with my performance unless I . . .”

“The most important goals I have for myself as a person are . . .”

It may be helpful to articulate these expectations to another person. You may be able to realistically assess your expectations alone, but it’s very difficult. The same kind of blinders that contribute to our unrealistic expectations hinder us from discovering what they are even when we make a concerted effort to do so.

When things produce pain, we cope by creating defenses. These defenses never solve the problem, but they enable us to endure or ignore it. If we’re serious about discovering our flaws, we’ll probably need to sit down with someone who knows us and ask, “What do you see in me that needs to change?”

For most pastors, that person is their spouse-if they can risk the encounter. It’s always risky to ask someone who knows us well to level with us, but how we need it! Like the wounds of a surgeon’s scalpel, the words of a true friend are the beginning of healing. The experience can bring healing for the spouse as well.

Sometimes a close friend or colleague may be the one to help us unmask and face ourselves. Lots of pastors today seek out a professor or friend from seminary days. Often, these older friendships were forged during shared adversity. Seminary can be a difficult time of working two jobs, living in housing with paper-thin walls, and amid everything else, trying to give studies the attention they need. For those who survive it together, a deep bonding can occur. That’s the kind of friend to whom a pastor will listen when he cannot listen to others.

No matter who it is, another person is needed to help separate conscious and unconscious motivators. When it comes to evaluating life’s expectations, two are a great deal better than one.

Second, try to separate external expectations from internal ones. In evaluating internal versus external expectations, it often helps to ask, “Where did that idea come from? When or where did I adopt that as a goal or expectation for myself? Does my congregation really expect this of me, or is most of it coming from within myself?”

I know several pastors who have explored these questions with a few of their key church leaders in a retreat setting and made some liberating discoveries. I recommend a two-day period, perhaps a weekend, when the setting is less structured than a church committee room and everyone has time to relax and relate in an informal, personal way. The pastor will probably have to initiate things by modeling the kind of open sharing necessary. By sharing himself, his expectations for the church, and some of his struggles, others can open up and express their feelings as well.

Often the pastor will find that people do not expect him to be at every church function. They would be quite happy for him to take a couple of days a week off and spend more time with his family. The drivenness he blamed on them has been coming from within, not without.

Third, compare your conscious goals and expectations against the unconscious motivators of anger, fear, and guilt. Most of the goals we pursue and the methods we use are the result of conscious decision. Yet the underlying expectations are largely the product of subconscious forces.

I’m not suggesting you try to psychoanalyze yourself, but simply be aware that the subconscious can be a harsh taskmaster if left unexamined and unexposed.

People who struggle most with goals and expectations tend to be more reactive than intentional. By that, I mean they have not stopped to identify a set of goals that are available for their conscious, rational evaluation. They tend to be driven by gusts of circumstance instead of knowing where they’re going.

It’s important to set goals, whether spoken or recorded, because they’re then available for examination. We may choose to retain a goal and work toward it or abandon it as unrealistic. But we can do neither until we identify it. Pastors who have no goals wind up tyrannized by unconscious fears and feelings.

People with lots of unconscious motivation also tend to think in extremes. To them, life is a matter of all or none. Instead of looking at a single unmet goal and saying, “I failed to achieve that,” they are likely to extend the impact of falling short and say, “I’m a failure.” That’s the kind of unhealthy generalization produced by unconscious motivation.

Finally, examine how closely your sense of self-worth is wrapped up in fulfilling your expectations. If our sense of value as a person depends on living up to our expectations, then we’re headed for some painful failures. All of us will fail from time to time, but we won’t be devastated if we do not put all our emotional eggs in one basket.

I’ve been fortunate in that most things have come fairly easy for me. If I ran for an office in school, I got it. If I took an exam, I passed it. All that held true until I faced my psychiatric board exams.

I passed the written portion of the test and then went to Seattle for the oral portion. We were shown a short film containing a psychological vignette and the background of a patient. Later, each of us met with an examiner who asked us to make an assessment and diagnosis. I could not answer his first question. I completely missed what he was after, and it left me rattled for the rest of the exam. After that, it didn’t make any difference what I said. The exam was over. I had failed.

That was a devastating experience. Later, Melissa and I rode the ferry across Puget Sound to Bremerton. The sound of the water and the gulls along with the sting of the cold spray helped me gain some perspective and begin thinking of another attempt at the oral exam in a few months. Somehow my self-worth returned, and I was not left feeling worthless by the experience.

The extent of our emotional stake in our expectations is critical. When we think, If I don’t achieve this, I’m worthless. People will reject me as a person if I fail, we’ve invested more than any goal is worth.

Our sense of worth must be anchored in God’s love and acceptance of us. If it’s tied up in achievement, something is controlling me besides the Spirit of God, and I’d better back off. If I am driven to make myself valuable, I’m not free to truly minister.

I love and yet struggle with Matthew 11:28-30-“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

I struggle because I do not see this passage being lived out in ministers’ lives. I see pastors wanting to follow Christ and taking up his yoke, but somehow not finding the rest. Instead of a lighter load, they have a heavier one.

I don’t know that I’ll ever completely understand that passage, but it does offer hope. Our worth does not depend on living up to human expectations. Part of exchanging our burdens for Christ’s yoke is recognizing the factors contributing to the tyranny of unrealistic expectations in our lives. God’s power does not eliminate the struggle to see ourselves as we are, but it enhances our ability.

We often refer to the gospel of Jesus Christ as good news for those who receive our Lord by faith. But the gospel is also good news for those who preach it.

Louis McBurney, M.D., is founder of Marble Retreat, Marble, Colorado.

David McCasland is a free-lance writer in Colorado Springs, Colorado.

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

Seminary & Congregation: A Lovers’ Quarrel?

With responses from two seminary presidents (George Brushaber, David McKenna) and two pastors (Martin Copenhaver, William Willimon).

The following article, which appeared last January in Theology Today, is reprinted here with permission. We also asked two pastors and two seminary presidents to respond to its ideas.

To speak of the relationship of the “seminary” to the “church” is to reveal a conceptual canker on the church today. For the seminary is as much the church as the local congregation. As near to the church as smoke to flame, to position the “seminary” against the “church” is to position the seminary against itself. The academy and the chapel are part of the same whole-the body of Christ. They need each other, for the church is incomplete when either is missing.

I

The most prominent feature of theological education today is the rediscovery of the congregation. For the past forty years, and indeed ever since seminaries breathed the air of biblical criticism, the body of Christ has not been fully united. Various organs of that body, the mind (theological seminaries) and the heart (koinonia congregations), have each been prone to say to the other, “I have no need of you” (1 Cor. 12:21).

The beginnings of theological education in America were quite different. Ministers were then trained to be “masters of the common faith,” in Glenn T. Miller’s marvelous phrase. The connection between the faith of the members of the church and the faith of the “doctors of the church” was, up until the last two decades of the nineteenth century, an intimate and trusting one. But the way higher criticism was taught shattered this relationship, as ministers began to be trained in a faith quite different from their people. Just five years ago, for example, an extremely bright seminary student rejected my pleas for the development of a colloquial theology based on the reconnecting of the chapel and academy. He responded with a haughty insistence that lay persons could be consumers of biblical interpretation, but seldom participants: “People in the pew can never learn the skills necessary to properly understand the text. It is a waste of time even to try to teach them.”

II

For the last forty years, the seminary and the congregation have proved to be very good at getting things wrong about each other. To the congregation the image of the seminary has been one of dry-as-dust, desk-bound professors whose academic fussiness (what Freud called the “narcissism of small differences”) does battle with the problems of the day-before-yesterday and whose academic uncommittedness occupies empty seats on Sunday morning. To a congregation on fire, seminaries have all the attraction of ice. Like the student who complained about his New Testament professor (“she has taken away my Lord, and I know not where to find him”), congregations have complained that seminaries promote a kind of placebo piety (an it’s-all-in-the-head faith), an education where nothing is missing but what matters most. Disturbed by what is perceived to be large portions of theological goulash served with only a garnish of spirituality, congregations shake their heads and wonder. If the study of God does not bring one closer to God, what good is it? Even when the communication continues between congregations and seminaries, congregations have the uneasy feeling that seminaries tell what we already know in language we can’t understand.

The seminary’s attitude toward the congregation has often been one of uncomprehending superiority, and its response to being badgered by bothered congregations has been far from sweet-tempered. Academics do not suffer fools gladly, of which there appear to be plenty in every denomination (as in every seminary), and find insufficient balance of reason and faith in the clich‚ piety and shirt-sleeve theology dominating popular religious life. Congregations do not seem to be interested in what seminary professors are interested in, or even tough-minded enough to pursue responsibly the questions they are interested in. The issues congregations seem willing to ponder seriously are about as controversial as a debate on the merits of the beatitudes. When the seminary turns its head to look at the congregation or denomination, it often musters only a grimacing glance.

III

All this is beginning to change. Congregations are coming to realize that seminary professors generally carry a lot of learning lightly, many of them have held at one time or another the greatest title in the world (“pastor”), and all want to be seen and heard as “doctors of the church.” Similarly, seminaries are coming to realize that, in the words of James Hopewell, “the congregation is as central to theological education as the human body is to medical education.” For a seminary to ignore the congregation or denomination is to saw away at the very branch it is sitting on. The amazing speed with which slow-moving theological institutions within this past decade established D.Min. degrees and continuing education programs is solid evidence of an attempt to reconnect pastors with seminaries. The support for the local congregation has become a diapason of seminary life. Not since the nineteenth century has there been such a widespread movement to bring theological curricula into significant conversation with congregational life.

One hates to throw ashes in everyone’s ice cream. But while seminaries and congregations may be discovering the facts of life about each other, they are still getting a lot of these facts wrong. This is because the relationship is not yet based on trust and intimacy, but on need and neurosis. In many ways it is a relationship born of frustration and fear-for congregations and denominations, fear of losing members; for seminaries, fear of losing their existence. Unless these unhealthy patterns of relationship are broken, what today is a neurosis in the body of Christ can tomorrow become a necrosis.

Congregations and denominations are now poised to call the shots for theological education. Denominations enjoy a surfeit of clergy, and many seminaries languish under a scarcity of students. This puts the curriculum of the seminary in a double bind-pressured on one side by the increasing rigor of requirements for acceptance into the ordained ministry, and pressured on the other by panic-stricken cries for razzmatazz courses that will solve denominational difficulties.

The “congregational paradigm” can be as fickle and faddish in its orientation and priorities as theological seminaries have been accused of being when congregations were seldom consulted or considered. At first, denominations complained that pastors were deficient in administrative skills, and demanded either through ordination standards or indirect means that seminaries emphasize “church administration” and the theology of management. Seminaries, many of which had been there before (with H. Richard Niebuhr’s “pastoral director” and Seward Hiltner’s “pastoral administrator”), by and large responded until “professionalism” became the word on the lips of theological educators, and the management of meetings and organizations almost became the pastoral trade.

Very soon denominational interest lurched in the direction of evangelism in response to the hemorrhaging of the mainline churches, and seminaries were told “let’s have more courses in evangelism.” Now the denominations have veered once again, this time in the direction of “spirituality”-without, of course, revising their stockpiling expectations in administration and evangelism. Congregations and denominations are not in the best position to dictate to seminaries what courses divinity students should have. Seminaries cannot simply add more and more courses to a curriculum, after every dressing down by denominations for failing to meet certain needs, without doing irreparable harm to the educational process.

IV

As Edward Farley has so masterfully argued, seminaries must recover their theological bearings and restore the lost overarching vision and focus to the enterprise of theological education. Only in this way can theological education remain unaffected by fashion and resist the denominational drubbings and plethora of pressures to plug various gaps and meet the need of the month. For example, it has become quite routine to take a few whacks at seminaries every now and then for being too academic in their curriculum and not “experiential” or “practical” enough. Yet this is not such a bad thing.

During the course of a national consultation on our Black Church Studies program, one of the students complained that he felt the education was too “theoretical” and did not adequately prepare him for the variety of situations he would face in the parish. As far as he was concerned, he confessed, the best course he had taken during his three years in seminary was on the administration of the black church. The response of the black bishops and denominational leaders in attendance was swift and merciless. We are not sending you here to take nuts-and-bolts courses or to get practical experience in parish life, he was told with some annoyance by the President of the Congress of National Black Churches. You will spend a lifetime in continuing your education on a practical plane, and we can always establish workshops to address specific needs or deficiencies as they arise. We send you to seminary for three years to get what you will really need to begin your ministry-the broad, biblical, historical, and theological background for ministry in the church today. If you aren’t getting that by shunning those courses, then the problem is not with the seminary, but with you.

The seminary and the congregation would do well to sit down together and read in each other’s presence 1 Corinthians, chapter 12. The body of Christ is not whole or totally present in the congregation unless the seminary is there-and vice versa. The health of the church as a Christbody community depends on the parts of the body performing their assigned functions in a common spirit of partnership and purpose. It is only on this basis that the current healing between the seminary and the congregation will be a lasting one.

Leonard I. Sweet is provost of Colgate Rochester Divinity School and also minister of the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection, both in Rochester, New York.

* * *

Although I disagree with Dr. Sweet over the original cause of the tensions between seminaries and congregations, no one could disagree that there is a growing gap between the two.

To my mind, its sources are more general than the introduction of biblical criticism. The crisis is rooted in the alliance between seminaries and the academic establishment. Seminary professors, caught between the demands of the academy and the values of the church, have usually pleased the academy. The academy, with its values of academic elitism, pursuit of intellectual minutiae, and presumed scholarly objectivity, has become the credentialing agency for seminary faculty-to the detriment of the congregation.

What to do?

Should we ask the congregation what it wants? Sweet is right in noting that this way has its perils. I have not been happy with some attempts at the seminary to get “practical” and let the congregation call the shots. Why was it that the so-called “practical” courses I took in seminary-church administration, polity, even preaching and worship-proved so impractical in my first parish? I was taught how to administer a church in the inner city, how to conduct church board meetings using corporate management skills, how to preach to Christianity’s cultured despisers. None of this was useful in my rural Georgia parish.

Of course, some might say the answer would be better or even more practical courses and professors. But I, like Sweet, am unimpressed by much of the “congregation-based learning” I have observed in the seminaries. I know it is all the rage today, but too many of these courses are superficial, descriptive rather than prescriptive, ad hoc, and, in an odd way, utterly impractical to the long-term demands of the parish. Why was it that I could say, three years into parish ministry, that the most useful courses I took in seminary were the most theoretical? My course in church history, in which we walked through a dozen heresies, was more helpful in administering a rural South Carolina parish than my course in congregational planning.

Having lived in both worlds, as a parish pastor and a seminary professor, I can testify that each of these is a unique and specifically demanding vocation. The burden of the parish ministry is the burden of the day-to-day demands of congregational embodiment of the faith. The burden of the seminary teacher is the weight of thinking for the church, standing back from important struggles and reflecting upon their implications, worrying about what makes our contemporary prayer and practice either heretical or orthodox. The church needs people who are willing to bear each burden.

A few years ago, I attended a national denominational conference on evangelism. There was much tough talk about the failings of the seminaries. A resolution was passed urging our seminaries to require practical courses in evangelism techniques and strategies and to establish professorships in evangelism.

Finally, a pastor from rural West Virginia said, “Look, I’m out here where the evangelization must be done. And I can tell you, we don’t need any more programs or strategies. Our problem is not that we don’t know how to communicate the gospel. Our problem is that we don’t have a gospel. We have lost something to say to another person that is ultimately significant.

“So let’s ask our schools to do what they do best for us-to help us think as clearly as we can as Christians, to give us something faithful and important to say to the world. Then leave the rest to me and my people. We’ll find a way to say it.”

William Willimon, pastor

Northside United Methodist Church

Greenville, South Carolina

* * *

The uneasy alliance between the seminary and the congregation is natural and not necessarily undesirable. Creative tension is a sign of health in the body of Christ. If two members are coordinated under the control of the Head, however, they perform complementary functions. Without that control, all signals are short-circuited.

Biblical criticism, as Dr. Sweet suggests, short-circuited the deity of Christ and the authority of his Word as the point of control. No surprise should follow. Seminaries and congregations lost their common confession that “Jesus is Lord” and became distant members reacting erratically to external pressures. Seminaries took their cues not from the needs of the congregation but from the expectations of the academic community, with its emphasis upon scholarly research, critical thinking, intellectual freedom, and professional publication.

At the same time, congregations were swept into a social revolution where Christian values, institutions, and authority were turned upside down. Like neurotics trapped in a vicious cycle where every response aggravates the problem, seminaries and congregations moved further and further from each other until they came to the verge of war.

The divisive influence of biblical criticism hit hardest those seminaries that represent theological liberalism. Evangelical seminaries have stayed closer to their congregations because of their common confession of Christ and their common commitment to the authority of his Word. Still, an air of suspicion lingers in the evangelical community about seminary education. Last summer at Amsterdam, Billy Graham mentioned the congregation that set up two stipulations in its search for a pastor. One, they did not want a seminary graduate; two, they wanted no one who had taken Greek. Even though his comment was made with tongue in cheek, it reveals the underlying tension.

How can seminary and congregation become friends? First and foremost, their common confession of Christ and their common commitment to the authority of his Word must never be broken. On this foundation must be built the common purpose of the Great Commission, which cannot be accomplished without both units performing effectively the special task to which each is called.

If we are to work together, some form of continuing dialogue must be established. There is no substitute for professors who are also pastors in the field, so that they bring the pulse of the congregation to their classrooms. Likewise, congregations might well invite seminary teams to evaluate their ministries of worship, preaching, music, and education in order to keep the critical balance between substance and style. If expectations on both sides can be translated into learning outcomes for seminary students, a bridge will be built.

David McKenna, president

Asbury Theological Seminary

Wilmore, Kentucky

* * *

There is something to be said for a theological education that seems impractical. As I headed off to seminary, my uncle, an ordained minister, gave me this bit of advice: “Don’t bother taking all those ‘practical’ courses. You’ll learn how to run a mimeograph machine soon enough.”

He exaggerated to make a point, of course, but I took the advice and never regretted it. I avoided most courses with titles like “_____ in the Parish” (you can fill in the blank: Evangelism, Social Action, Spirituality, Administration). Instead, I immersed myself in biblical studies and theology. To my surprise, when I graduated from seminary I discovered these courses were the most helpful and “practical” of all.

In seminary I was equipped with a particular way of viewing the world that became bone-deep. In short, I learned how to think Christianly. This was an immeasurable gift. But a lifelong challenge remained: to find sufficient faith and imagination to apply it to the range of ministerial tasks, not only preaching and teaching but also evangelism, social action, and the like.

That is not to say the gap between seminary and congregation could not use a wider, sturdier bridge. Although I learned the fundamentals in seminary, I have been left to my own sometimes flawed devices in applying them to particular situations in the parish. And I am also sure my theological education would have been enriched if some of my professors had had a more intimate knowledge of the ministry they were preparing me for.

So here is a specific proposal: When seminary professors become eligible for sabbatical, why not urge them to spend it in a local parish rather than on another campus somewhere? After all, when ministers are on sabbatical, they often head for a seminary. Any bridge worth constructing must be worthy of two-way traffic. The professor could become a “theologian in residence” at a large church or in an association of smaller churches. The benefits would be enormous.

Church members would gain from the rich knowledge of the visiting professor, particularly in a time when churches seem to be looking for more adult education opportunities. If the professor is a teacher of Scripture, the possibilities are obvious. But there would be exciting possibilities for professors in other fields as well. A professor of counseling could offer a course on how to become a more effective listener. A theologian could offer a course on the basics called “Theology Is Everyone’s Business.” And so on. Beyond specific courses, a visiting professor could help a local church understand how its life and worship and work fit into larger spheres.

The minister of the church would benefit. Through the help of the professor, his or her skills could be sharpened. Particularly, the minister would get invaluable guidance in applying theory to practice. Then, perhaps, theology would be rescued from its reputation as a dusty and dormant business and would be seen for what it is-at once exciting and practical.

The professor would benefit. Obviously, it is one thing to give instructions for battle from a distance, another to be able to see what happens when those instructions are followed on the front lines. It would be a great challenge to the professor, unlike any to be found in a seminary setting. It has been said that the preacher’s task is to take the larger denominations of thought and turn them into the smaller change that anyone can use. That would be a good exercise for the seminary professor as well, a faith challenge as well as an intellectual challenge. As C. S. Lewis said, “If you cannot turn learned language into the vernacular, you either don’t believe it or don’t understand it.”

When such professors return to the seminary, they may not teach a course on “Sabbatical in the Parish,” but the knowledge gained will infuse their teaching, no matter what their area of expertise.

A practical footnote: Since most professors continue to be paid by their schools while on sabbatical, there would not be a large expense to the local church. And certainly there would still be much time to pursue private study, and maybe even a chance to try one’s professorial hand at the mimeograph machine.

Martin Copenhaver, pastor

First Congregational Church

Burlington, Vermont

* * *

The underlying causes of mistrust are more complex than Sweet-perhaps due to space limitations-has suggested. In addition to the rise of higher criticism, there has been a loss of appreciation for the ministry of the laity and the priesthood of believers. Proclamation has suffered from an uncertain locus of authority. Denominational bureaucracies have interposed themselves between the seminary and congregations. Faculty allegiances to the academy have become more dominant than loyalties to the church.

These and related factors, often theological in nature, persist as threats to seminary/congregation relations. Sweet’s solution, I fear, is more hope than substance and sidesteps difficult issues that must be faced.

Numerous and powerful parachurch organizations exert influence on the seminary’s agenda. The electronic church may now be a stronger leader and influence in the local congregation than the seminary. Much theological education, including lay and continuing education for the clergy, is being provided by independent authors and workshop leaders-some attaining “guru” status. Evangelical seminaries, for their part, have diversified to offer a variety of programs and services not directly related to preparation for church vocations. Wisely or unwisely, most evangelical seminaries have hesitated to address the growing “politization” of the faith or to engage single-issue movements in the church. As a result of all this, seminaries may be losing the opportunity to participate in the continuing reformulation of congregational life.

Competition among seminaries will become more severe if church growth slows and the surplus among the clergy becomes more acute. The higher professional demands congregations are placing on those in ministry are beginning to back up to the seminaries. But are congregations identifying, nurturing, and directing their “best and brightest” toward preparation for ministry? On the contrary, the evangelical drive for upward mobility is shunting many promising prospects toward other professions and business careers. This is surely “eating the seed corn” of the church. Seminary and congregation together must re-examine the doctrine of calling.

Finally, seminaries must see the local parish as the essential environment where the skills of ministry can be developed and perfected. Field education, as usually handled, has often failed to produce these outcomes. The traditional dichotomy between the classical academic disciplines and the applied or practical areas can best be resolved when the seminary puts its instruction within the arena of congregational life. Perhaps the seminary’s task is not completed until after the graduate has done a successful “residency” of several years in a church. Diploma as well as ordination might well wait until then.

Faculty as well as students need to draw strength, encouragement, and admonition from the congregation. The congregation, for its part, must be open to renewal and guidance from members who teach and study in the seminary.

George Brushaber, president

Bethel College and Seminary

Saint Paul, Minnesota

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

The Cambridge Diet for Fat Churches

I live with a church that has a weight problem. The weekly spread of tasty music, erudite education, scrumptious social life, and gourmet preaching seems to produce ever more poundage on our padded pews.

In fact, the fare can get so rich that sometimes I think only the dessert of the eschaton would be enough to make the saints salivate.

The bulges under the garment of success began to show after only ten years of corporate life. By 1974 we had to admit that our increasing size was bittersweet. The frequent accomplishments—new buildings, staff additions—were often interrupted by a belch of discomfort as we sensed something amiss.

I was a member of the church at that time, serving as campus pastor at the denomination’s nearby liberal-arts college. The pastoral leadership began to suggest one way to spell relief: m-i-s-s-i-o-n. But what would that solve? The mission budget was as obese as the rest of the church. Articulate guests came to the pulpit of Evangel Temple on a regular basis to remind us of the physically and spiritually starving world on the other side of those glass doors. So the bucks rolled in, but no parishioners moved out. “Mission” meant missionaries, and we had plenty of them. The congregation had yet to risk anything more than its checkbook.

Meanwhile, my wife and I were in the throes of making some long-term decisions about our ministry. The campus work was challenging—but a different challenge was growing within us: the idea of planting a new church back in Cambridge, Massachusetts. We knew the community well from the three years we had lived in the Boston area while attending Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary. The clogged streets of this Ivy League city of 120,000 were lined with empty hulks of religiosity that once teemed with parishioners. We knew from experience that there was much spiritual work to be done in this urban home of Harvard University and M.I.T.

What would Evangel Temple think about mothering a new church, not in the next suburb or county, but 1,350 miles away? What concord hath the Ozarks with New England? With a vision in hand and a lump in our throats, we approached the church leadership. They spent several weeks in prayer and discussion.

Eventually, they embraced the idea of a Cambridge diet.

When we rolled east from Springfield with our U-Haul truck and Dodge Dart, we carried part of our obese yet loving parent congregation. Not only did we take the financial support to let us give full time to the new work but also prayer support, song books purchased by the children’s classes, the promise of semiannual visits by the Evangel pastoral staff, and a communication link that has not been broken to this day. After two years, Cambridge Christian Center became financially independent, and today it thrives in the heart of this East Coast city.

But what began as a project has become a philosophy of ministry. After we had spent five years in Cambridge, Evangel Temple asked me to return to the mother church as senior pastor. Kathy and I turned them down; the invitation seemed all too self-serving. Climbing from one steeple to the next, chasing the bigger salary and the leased car were not what I wanted. After several weeks, however, we began to see the potential for leading this church into more creative “dieting.” In October 1979, we returned to Springfield.

As of today, churches have been planted in the Bronx of New York City; Bangkok, Thailand; Santa Barbara, Mexico; Ciudad Juarez, Mexico; and Danvers, Massachusetts. As part of our plan for total growth, Evangel Temple has laid the strategy to plant four more new U.S. churches by 1990.

The dynamics of dieting

That’s our story, and there’s no need to institutionalize it. While no one should copy our methodology, the following principles may be worth considering:

• First, the most effective method of evangelism is church planting. Church growth statisticians confirm this with their data, and we see the same in studying conversion growth figures in our daughter churches. We are encouraged to see that people are not just making decisions for Christ but are also deciding to grow in a local body. In a spiritual sense, every time someone comes to Christ in one of the churches we have planted, we vicariously welcome them to the altar of Evangel Temple.

• Second, large, affluent churches have to find some way to fight what Donald McGavran calls “redemption and lift.” This malady has plagued the church for centuries as people from the wrong side of the tracks experience the New Birth and soon find that all things have become new. Their new discipline and industriousness results in moving up the socioeconomic ladder (“lift”)—to the point that eventually they find it difficult to get their hands dirty with evangelism.

We see “lift” at our church all the time. The alligators on our sweaters, the 450 SLs in the parking lot, the Ballys on our feet are all mute reminders that the 1980s have dealt this congregation a good hand. The days of tent meetings and storefronts are now faded photos in air-conditioned archives.

Planting new churches keeps us honest. As we hear almost weekly about the growth pains of a new church, we are forced to grapple with whether our message is equal to the challenge. It is difficult to be glib about mission when one of our children is out there in a harvest field beyond our sight. The agonies and ecstasies keep us stained with the honest perspiration of building a church from the ground up.

• Third, congregations (like Christians) will be held accountable for the stewardship of their spiritual gifts. Like you, I’ve heard the parable of the talents thumped from pulpits for decades. If your experience has been like mine, those words always produced more guilt than guilders on Stewardship Sunday. But the totality of Scripture confirms the point regardless.

At Evangel Temple, we had to become serious about our giftedness. We started with money. After realizing that our church income had almost doubled over a three-year period, we were sobered to see that more than three-fourths of it was still going to make us “more mature” Christians. Nurture was a justifiable goal—but we were out of balance. Beginning in July 1981, we started to allocate 10 percent of our general receipts (undesignated) to missions and church planting. If we could harangue one another about tithing, surely we could ask the church to tithe as well.

Next, we looked at the gift of our pastoral staff. Shouldn’t this dazzling collection of degrees and divinity be made available to the new churches? Evangel’s business administrator, minister of Christian education, and senior pastor have all made extensive trips to share with the embryonic congregations.

What about our congregation’s vocational skills? Instead of having another six-week seminar on discovering your spiritual gifts, we sent twenty-two masons, carpenters, cooks, sign painters, and electricians (men and women) to the Santa Barbara, Mexico, site in February 1982 to build a building. Working hand in hand with Mexican Christians, we saw natural talents turn into supernatural gifts.

The next year, we decided such a trip would be a yearly habit.

Meanwhile, the new start in Danvers, Massachusetts, has been launched with more than just a salaried pastor. We asked lay people to consider moving to that area, finding jobs, and guaranteeing the presence of mature Christians in the congregation the first Sunday. (I remembered how I would gladly have given my entire set of Kittel to have such people among the first seventeen back in Cambridge.) A young couple took us seriously and relocated; he is now developing the Danvers youth program, while she works in music. At the five-month mark, the new congregation numbers fifty, meeting in a Howard Johnson’s.

The final gift we possess is our vision. To continue to stretch it as well as share it, we have brought the North American pastors of the churches we have planted back to Springfield every October for the past four years.

We spend two days exchanging ministry philosophy, sharing methodology, and reaching out to each other in prayer. They also participate in our Sunday worship while they’re here. The intensity of relationship that takes root among us during these days is hard to describe.

The heart of this diet plan is being willing to give up what we have tried so hard to get. We have been weaned on the sweet milk of accumulation. For years we have worked to pull in cash, crowds, and credit. But our flagstone foyers and swank sanctuaries are hollow if they echo our selfishness. Fat is no fun.

We know that at our core we are koinoniaholics, ever craving the good things of the Lord. But he will not allow bingeing. The Cambridge diet forces us to curb our appetites, to lose weight so we can gain strength, to give up fat in order to be healthy.

—Cal LeMon

Springfield, Missouri

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

LEADERSHIP FORUM

Making or Breaking the Pastoral Image

One wag, an Episcopalian, observed that on the question of authority, Roman Catholics point to the Pope, Protestants to the Bible, and Episcopalians to the previous rector. When it comes to people’s expectations of the pastor’s job description, lifestyle, and even personality, every congregation is shaped by the previous pastor, plus TV evangelists, memories of childhood ministers, radio preachers, and . . .

What elements make up the pastoral image? Which expectations do you live up to? Which must you live down?

To discuss these questions, LEADERSHIP editors Marshall Shelley and Terry Muck went to Milwaukee to meet with three pastoral couples:

-Stuart and Jill Briscoe, who serve Elmbrook Church in suburban Waukesha.

-Michael and Bonnie Halcomb, who minister at Mayflower Congregational Church of Milwaukee.

-William and Paula Otto, who serve Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church in north suburban Mequon.

Leadership: How much should you live up to the congregation’s image of “the pastor,” and how much do you have to be yourself no matter what?

Stuart Briscoe: It is utterly impossible to meet the diverse expectations within a congregation. Rarely will they all be communicated to you, and even if they are, what two people expect may be mutually exclusive.

But you can’t just dismiss these expectations as unrealistic. If you do, you find yourself in an adversarial role. You develop an arrogant, independent spirit; you lose your credibility and ability to lead.

It’s a fine line and requires open communication about what may be impossible demands.

Bill Otto: This is a complex problem, but it gets to the essence of what ministry is. Often the image is based on a distortion. For instance, Scripture speaks of all church members as ministers, but many people consider the pastor the only minister in the congregation. This leads to double standards that damage and confuse our relationships in the church. I resist these unscriptural, unfair expectations.

Jill Briscoe: When we first candidated, I passed out cards and asked people to write what they expected of me. The answers were so diverse. Our church is nondenominational, so each person has a different image of pastor and wife from previous experience. And those from Catholic backgrounds, of course, have no pastor’s wife model at all.

I thought if I tried to please the Lord I’d please the church. But it doesn’t always work that way.

Mike Halcomb: I find very few individuals with unrealistic expectations of the pastor-it’s the composite image that gets to you. And rarely does anyone outside the pastoral family see the composite.

Expectations, however, are part of any relationship. My three sons have expectations of how we spend money, how we behave, where we take vacations. All these have to be sorted, negotiated, and discussed. And that’s the way it is in the church family, too.

Maybe an expectation doesn’t need to be rejected as much as redefined or redirected. When my sons come with an expectation, maybe their mother can help them better than I; maybe they can help themselves with a bit of know-how. Ministry involves creative redefining and redirecting of expectations.

Bonnie Halcomb: When we candidated at Mayflower, we were available to meet with everybody in the church in small groups. It’s a tremendous emotional strain, but it’s helpful because everyone finds out who you are. Like courtship, though, you don’t really find out until after you’re married. But at least this is a good start.

Second, you also need some kind of pastoral-relations committee for feedback. You discover expectations you weren’t aware of, and this group can help you sort them out.

Leadership: Give some examples of how you’ve accommodated some expectations and stood fast against others.

Bonnie Halcomb: Occasionally people make requests of me-public speaking, for instance-and I’ll think, There’s no way! That just isn’t me. And yet I pray about it, decide to give it a try, and I’ve discovered that not through my strength but the Lord’s I was able to. It was a growing experience (and gave me even more appreciation for my husband).

Sometimes expectations push us, making us grow in ways we wouldn’t otherwise. You can’t just automatically say no. Maybe God is opening a door.

Paula Otto: One of the first people to meet me at Mequon was an elderly lady who pointedly said, “We don’t like our pastor’s wife to work.” I was teaching school in a nearby community at the time and planned to continue.

My mother happened to be with me, and she said just as pointedly, “Well, you have to realize the church call wasn’t to Paula but to her husband. So I suppose Paula doesn’t have to answer to you.”

Bill Otto: That’s when I packed my bags. (Laughter)

Paula Otto: Oddly enough, the lady accepted it, perhaps because it came from someone her own age.

Stuart Briscoe: Often people expect pastors to feed sheep the same way you feed lambs, and that’s the worst thing you can do. Grown sheep need to be shown the pasture for themselves.

My very first function at Elmbrook was a Wednesday night service. Afterward a lady asked what the Bible said about such-and-such.

“I haven’t the remotest idea,” I said. A look of horror came over her. I obviously wasn’t the answer man she expected.

“Will you find out for me?”

“No,” I said. Her horror turned to anger.

“Why not?”

I explained she was capable of finding out for herself. If I looked it up, it would take my time and she would probably forget my answer. If she looked it up, it would save my time, she would remember it better, and she could come and teach me.

“But,” I asked, “do you know how to look these things up?” She didn’t, so we immediately sat down with a Bible and a concordance, and I showed her how to dig it out for herself. She didn’t get what she expected, and yet in another way she did.

The next Wednesday she came up and said, “An interesting thing happened this week: a friend called and asked if I knew what the Bible said about such-and-such, and I said, ‘I haven’t the remotest idea. (Laughter) But if you like, come over and I’ll show you how to find out.’ “

Mike Halcomb: Another common expectation is in the area of administration. Whenever the pastor is in the building, he’s fair game for anyone who wants to schedule a meeting. Personally, I’ve tried to let people know the pastor’s study is just that-a study, not an office. Of course, at times you’ve got to put your own agenda aside and take care of the immediate situation.

Leadership: What principles help you decide when to bend and when to stand fast?

Mike Halcomb: Many expectations can be redefined or redirected so your time can be used in pastoral ministry rather than administration. If you rudely reject them, you’re asking for conflict.

We tell our missionaries to be sensitive to the values and past practices of the culture they’re entering. The same is true of pastors.

Bonnie Halcomb: Some expectations are based purely on human custom. If they make me uncomfortable and are not supported in Scripture, then I’m going to resist them.

Mike Halcomb: A large part of preventing problems over expectations comes in talking about where the church is going. If we can agree on what our mission is and how we’re going to get there, many of the extraneous expectations fall away.

Leadership: Let’s look at some specific elements of the pastoral image. Clothes, for instance. How do clothes affect the way people perceive you? Does “Dress for Success” make for effective ministry?

Stuart Briscoe: I’ve gotten hit by both sides. In the early years in our church, we were invaded by the counterculture-young people in T-shirts and jeans. After attending our church for twelve months, one person told me, “I’m just now beginning to listen to you because when I first came here and saw the suit you were wearing and the money it must have cost, that was a barrier between me and the Christ you were preaching.”

About the same time, a businessman took me aside and suggested I dressed far too casually. “It looks like the church isn’t paying you enough to dress properly,” he said.

I told him I purposely dressed down.

Actually, I’m not interested in clothes, so my problem is being sensitive to those with higher expectations. I never wear a jacket or tie on Sunday evenings. I recently bought my annual suit-for $150, and that’s the most I’ve ever spent.

Jill Briscoe: I suspect most congregations are more picky about the way the pastor’s wife dresses than the way the pastor does.

Paula Otto: I agree. I didn’t realize how closely my dress was being watched until one lady told me the Sunday after Christmas, “We can hardly wait till this Sunday each year because we always like to see what your husband gives you for Christmas.” They’d learned Bill enjoys giving clothes.

But personally, (and maybe this is a woman speaking) I find if I dress well, I feel more confident about myself.

Bonnie Halcomb: It’s important that we dress appropriately to the occasion. For informal functions in our church, it’s OK to wear a slacks suit. I have never felt I had to wear a dress to a softball game. People want you to be a normal person, not an oddity.

Bill Otto: I think the principle we’re talking about is that whatever we’re wearing shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves. That detracts from our ministry.

So I’m not going to a pool party in a three-piece suit.

Leadership: We’ve talked with at least one pastor who always wears a shirt and tie-even when he mows the lawn. He feels strongly that he needs to restore some professional dignity to his profession.

Bonnie Halcomb: In our community, shortly after we moved in, I was having coffee with a neighbor who said, “We’re so happy to see your husband out in his blue jeans playing baseball with his kids.” They were impressed that a pastor was a normal person, husband, and father.

Mike Halcomb: Our society is more forgiving now than it was years ago about clothing. But I’m still sensitive, especially when someone takes me to meet business associates or to a community group. Initial impressions are important. I don’t want my dress to detract from what I’m trying to do.

But I hope we’ve gotten past the point where smoking a pipe makes you a theologian, growing a beard makes you a counselor, or wearing pinstripes makes you authoritative. Dress is a concern but not a very substantive one.

Jill Briscoe: I take a lot more care about how I look when I’m with “outsiders” than when I’m with church people. The non-Christian world focuses on outward appearances; that’s what’s important to them. They’ll judge you and your Christianity, and if you never get a chance to speak, the way you look and the way you behave speaks for you.

Leadership: Are you saying you bend more to meet non-Christians’ expectations than church members’ expectations?

Jill Briscoe: It’s not a matter of bending. It’s a matter of asking how would God have me dress and behave in this particular situation. What will honor him and show the world that Christians are normal people, not extreme people, and that they can look neat and tidy?

Bonnie Halcomb: After the first few Sundays, our credibility among church people is based on deeper things. If you wear something they don’t like, they’ll forgive you if they like what’s inside you. But non-Christians may not have that chance to find out what you’re like inside, so that’s why we have to be careful about the outward appearance.

Leadership: How should a pastor’s office look? Lots of books? Diplomas on the wall? What messages do you want to convey to visitors who stop by?

Stuart Briscoe: My office at the church has a desk, a round table with four chairs around it, no bookshelves, no diplomas, but lots of greenery (until it inevitably dies). All over the walls I have pictures, carvings, and fabrics I’ve collected while traveling. I want to convey that my church office is a functional place, a comfortable place where you can find all sorts of interesting things, which helps conversation begin.

My study at home has my books because I need them there.

Bill Otto: I want my church office to be a place where people feel welcome to sit down and counsel with me, but I have a lot of books there. I want them to understand part of my role is as a teacher, one who studies and learns. I also try to have at least one funny poster up on the wall. The current one is “How to put a committee together” and shows four silly-looking birds on telephone lines, each pointing a different direction and looking bored.

My only regret is that the church office often becomes a dumping ground for supplies for every committee and board, and there’s always stuff in the corner.

Mike Halcomb: It’s not as important how a study looks as how it feels. Many of the things Stuart and Bill mention give people a sense of interest, acceptability, comfort, and warmth.

I find people are usually interested in the books on the shelves, and I purposely try to keep two or three interesting titles on my desk. Hopefully I’m in the midst of reading them, and that stimulates conversation and encourages them to read.

Bonnie Halcomb: One thing I like about Mike’s study is that you don’t have to go through the secretary’s office to get there-there are two separate doors. To me, that’s nice.

Stuart Briscoe: We have a multiple staff, and it’s interesting to me to see the different atmosphere in each pastor’s study. Some play classical music. Others are strictly functional. Others are crammed with books two deep on the shelves. Something of each one’s ministry and personality comes through in the way the office looks.

Leadership: What about your home? How does the house you live in-its size, location, and quality-affect your ministry?

Mike Halcomb: I was criticized for announcing a service of house blessing soon after we bought our home. It was with Bonnie’s consent, but some women in the church thought I’d done it behind her back because we had the service before we’d cleaned thoroughly, and the house needed some fixing up. But we wanted to communicate something. First, our home is an extension of our ministry, a place of ministry. Second, if we wait until everything is in apple-pie order before inviting others over, we’d probably never practice hospitality.

We hoped it would model something many of us aspire to-perhaps giving people freedom to use their homes as places of ministry.

Jill Briscoe: We had a peculiar situation. When we came to Elmbrook, we moved from England with our clothes-two suitcases apiece-and nothing else. All the rest of our possessions had to be sold or given away. The church said it was cheaper to provide new furnishings than to move our old ones.

They were generous in providing a lovely parsonage, but as a woman, I felt it wasn’t really mine. They had shower after shower-towel shower, kitchen shower-and they meant well. But I missed our wedding presents and the other things we’d given up.

They took a personal interest in everything in our home. There were times when ladies opened our drawers to see if we were using the towels they’d given. Who could blame them? It was theirs, not ours.

Leadership: That’s a tension, isn’t it? You want your house to be an extension of your ministry, where people can feel at home, but you also want a haven where you can get away from the pressure.

Paula Otto: When we first came here, we lived in a parsonage connected to the church building-one door led to another. I would come out of the bedroom and meet someone wandering into our home. I felt very tense about our lack of privacy.

Leadership: All of you now live in your own homes. Did the people feel that buying your own house took you a step away from them?

Bill Otto: Our congregation traditionally felt they needed to provide the pastor’s home. They were proud to say, “We’re giving this to you.” It gave them a sense of ownership, not only of the property but of us, too.

When I first presented our desire to own our own home, they resisted. I had to assure them it would not cost them any more money, and it wasn’t a step of independence. In fact, it rooted us more firmly in this community. We wouldn’t be as likely to leave after we’d built our own house.

So in the end, they realized our owning a house was a sign of our commitment to them.

Leadership: Does a congregation expect the pastor’s marriage to be trouble-free? How do family tensions affect the ministry?

Jill Briscoe: A pastor’s family is a model whether you want it to be or not. We’re not models of perfection, but we ought to be models of growth. How do you do that? By falling down at times in front of the congregation. When they see you struggling, they identify.

I remember dragging one of my children outside to the back of the church, and as I was administering the spanking, I looked up and to my horror saw a woman I would not have chosen to witness this scene.

She said rather primly, “Have you read the Dobson books?”-as if any proper mother wouldn’t need to punish her child this way.

I decided then I would no longer sneak off if my children ever needed discipline-I’d do it openly so no one would feel they’d “caught” us.

Bonnie Halcomb: We need to let our congregation know we’re a normal family with normal struggles, but we’re learning to work through these trouble areas. If a pastor’s family cannot give assurance that they find hope and answers in Scripture, how can they minister?

People are watching! I usually stand with Mike as he greets people after the service. One Sunday we had a guest speaker, and I figured three at the door would be a crowd, so I wasn’t there. One lady rushed up to ask, “Are you having a fight with your husband?” I hadn’t even thought of that, but I learned people really watch.

Bill Otto: Paula and I feel we have to live out our marriage in front of the congregation. Neither of us is shy about holding hands or putting our arm around the other in public. In the past, of course, that just didn’t seem the thing for a pastor to do.

Mike Halcomb: One of the most touching moments in our ministry came when we organized the congregation into small groups and asked various church leaders to take responsibility for keeping in touch with the personal and spiritual needs of each segment.

One Saturday our doorbell rang, and one of the leaders stood there. “I’m here to visit and pray with you,” he said. “You’re my responsibility.”

He prayed very knowledgeably, assuming we had the same family problems that his and every other family had. We were ministered to.

Congregations need to know, and want to know, that the pastor’s family isn’t trouble-free. But they also need to know it isn’t troublesome. Between those two poles is the ideal for the pastoral family.

Leadership: Obviously no pastor’s family will be perfect, but when does Titus 1:6 apply-“An elder must be blameless . . . a man whose children believe and are not open to the charge of being wild and disobedient”? Or 1 Timothy 3:5-“If anyone does not know how to manage his own family, how can he take care of God’s church”?

Mike Halcomb: The Timothy passage concludes with a warning not to fall into reproach. And the greatest reproach is hypocrisy-when something is espoused in the pulpit but not upheld in the home. Children are sensitive hypocrisy detectors, and they’ll report it widely, which brings reproach upon the cause of Christ.

But that passage is not referring to the normal maturation process of children. Our boys are inclined to pillage and plunder, sometimes in the church basement! I have to reprimand them. But I trust their being normal boys doesn’t disqualify me for ministry.

I also don’t think that passage speaks to grown children (and in the Bible days, that would probably be fourteen to sixteen years old) who choose to disassociate themselves from their faith.

Bill Otto: Right, those verses are referring to a behavioral pattern of being wild and disobedient. It’s describing an individual out of control.

Bonnie Halcomb: We’ve known pastoral families where a child has been wild and rebellious, and yet as far as we can tell, the parents did everything they could to bring up that child to love the Lord. Many times, five or seven years later, that child will come back to faith, and to love and respect the parents.

Leadership: Do congregations expect you to have children? Is there “something wrong” with pastors who don’t?

Bill Otto: We know a pastor who did not have children, and whose congregation put so much pressure on him and his wife that it forced them out of the ministry. He’s a teacher now.

Bonnie Halcomb: We always laugh when we think of the time we announced we would be adopting our first son. One little old lady came to Mike and said, “That’s how every pastor and his wife should have children.” (Laughter)

Mike Halcomb: She thought pastors were sexless!

Seriously, these are personal decisions, and pastors and spouses need psychological space. The congregation can’t be making these decisions for them. It’s a tough enough decision for two people without getting two hundred involved.

But realistically, their opinions are something you’ve got to be ready for.

Leadership: Reflecting on all these areas we’ve touched, are expectations good or bad?

Bill Otto: They’re a mixed bag. Certain expectations are legitimate, and pastors must accept them and live up to them. Expectations are bad when they demand things the lay people aren’t willing to follow themselves. It’s the double standard that really takes its toll.

Bonnie Halcomb: Expectations can be good when they cause us to examine our priorities, when they sensitize us to our faults, and when they get us out of personal ruts and challenge us to grow. They are destructive if they force you into a role where you can’t be true to yourself or to the Lord.

Mike Halcomb: I think the answer is found in the context. If the pastor and people are advocates of one another’s welfare and of the good of the ministry, expectations can be very healthy.

If the relationship becomes adversarial, however, expectations become a burden. Of course, you’ll always have those individuals who take it upon themselves to be the pastor’s adversary-the loyal opposition. We need to listen to those expectations, too, because the Lord can speak to us through those individuals as well.

Hopefully, though, we’ll develop relationships of mutual advocacy rather than being distrustful adversaries.

Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

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