Should I take the wedding for the engaged couple on the fringe of the congregation? Baptize the infant of irregular attenders? Allow an exception to an established church policy?
LEADERSHIP readers tell us they struggle with requests like these. When is saying yes a show of compassion, and when is it more the weakening of pastor and church? Where do you draw the line?
This article and the one following form a pair, presenting two approaches to these knotty questions. In the first Rick McKinniss, a Baptist pastor, outlines how he determines whether to say yes or no. In the second, “Holding Your Ground,” Methodist minister John Wetherwax tells of his struggle to hold his ground when people want him to give in.
I hoped he would say yes. The young marrieds’ Sunday school class wanted someone to lead a unit of study on legal and financial issues for young families. Jim was expertly qualified, able to provide sound guidance from a Christian perspective.
I asked him if he would. A few days later, after he’d had a chance to think about it, we got together over coffee to discuss his answer.
“Thumbs up, Pastor,” Jim said. “I think I’d really enjoy teaching that unit. I’m glad you thought to ask me.” I was delighted. The material was sure to generate interest and excitement in the class and attract new people.
“I should probably mention,” he continued in a quieter voice, “Cathy and I have been having some trouble in our marriage. By the time I start teaching, I may have moved out of the house. Does this make any difference?”
We looked at each other.
I finally said, “Yes, it does,” and I tried to explain the reasons for my hesitation: The class was made up solely of young couples beginning their married lives, who viewed the teacher as not only a source of information but also a model; his proposed move would occur just as he was to start teaching; time was needed to sort and resolve the issues in his marriage. “Without judging you, Jim,” I said, “or prejudging the outcome of these marital problems or their long-range implications for you as a church leader and teacher, I think it’s best that you not take on this class right now.” I tried hard to communicate it as simply no to one quarter of teaching Sunday school.
Jim didn’t hear that. He felt rejected and condemned by a one-man accuser, judge, and jury. Our relationship never recovered despite many efforts on my part to support him during his separation and eventual reconciliation with his wife.
Saying Yes, Saying No
I felt right about my choice with Jim, even though things ended far from where I had hoped they would. But if there’s one thing I learned from the encounter, it’s that it’s not always easy to determine whether to say yes or no.
Not long ago I had a week that began with a funeral and ended with a wedding. In between there was a new mom to visit and her newborn to bless. In themselves, these events are not too unusual, but the burial had been for a suicide, the babe blessed was illegitimate, and the young newlyweds had become expectant parents a couple of months prior to becoming husband and wife.
Every pastor greets regularly the kinds of dilemmas I stared in the face that week: Do I say yes or no? Do I involve myself, and the church, and the Lord’s name, in potentially compromising situations for the sake of ministry? Or do I refrain from potential ministry opportunities for the sake of purity or integrity?
The choice is rarely clear-cut. There are reasons for and against, potential risks and gains, either in saying yes or in saying no. How do I decide what to do? Over the years I’ve found help in sorting these kinds of situations by asking myself four careful questions.
What Are the Benefits of “Yes”?
Sometimes I need to remind myself that few situations in our fallen world are ideal. To say yes only to ideal cases would severely limit my opportunities to minister in the name of Christ.
Further, a positive response to an initial opportunity may lead to further ministry. The fringe couple whom I decide to marry (not without some internal debate and hesitation) may return for specifically Christian counseling later in their marriage. The funeral for the stranger provides occasion to proclaim the unique hope and consolation of the gospel. These are, to my way of thinking, positive consequences of saying yes.
My experience with Jim taught me that when we say no, no matter how positive we are that it is the right choice, our motives can be misconstrued. We run the risk of turning off folks altogether-from the church and the Lord. Refusal to perform a pastoral service could become a major stumbling block for the one turned down. I’m mindful of conversations I’ve had with older folks, in and out of the church, who have turned minor offenses by clergy into major bones of contention.
Beyond these pragmatic reasons, the chief benefit of my saying yes is that it can be a witness to the mercy, grace, and compassion of Christ. Yes flows out of the activism of Jesus, who came “to seek and to save that which was lost.” Jesus often found himself in “compromising situations” because of his love for the people involved. The woman at the well, Zaccheus, and Matthew Levi come to mind; in each case a bit of a scandal was created. Still, Jesus was never ashamed that the radical grace and mercy of the gospel might scandalize those who failed to understand such things.
I saw the benefits of saying yes in a recent funeral for a suicide victim. As always, there is no preparation for that kind of news. An 83-year-old man decided that if he had to leave his apartment, he would prefer his next address to be his final resting place rather than a rest home. So one night after getting ready for bed, he quietly suffocated himself.
The next morning his son, who checked on his father on his way to work, found him. I received a phone call from the troubled son, a member of our church. His request was anxious, almost pleading-“Would you be willing to handle the funeral?”
I said yes. In my theological and ecclesiastic tradition, certainly suicide is not condoned, but it is not an automatic disqualification from grace, either. My main motivation in accepting this challenging request was the anguish I heard in Robert’s voice. He had been a member of the church for some time. His father, who also had professed faith in Christ, often came to church with him. My ministry would be primarily to Robert and to the other members of the family.
In my opening remarks at the service, I shared fond remembrances of the departed. The need to engage in that type of exercise is perhaps even greater in such a dark situation. My primary goal, however, was to rehearse the comfort and the challenge of the gospel for the living. Yet it seemed that in order to adequately accomplish that goal, the special nature of the death needed to be addressed. I was able to state with confidence my conviction that our brother’s salvation did not depend upon the manner of his death any more than it depended upon the merits of his life. Salvation, rather, depends upon Jesus’ life and death on our behalf, and upon the sinner’s trust in that action. It was not my intent for these words to offer empty assurance or false hopes, nor to assuage any guilt feelings I was experiencing (that perhaps the church and I had failed him in his lonely days). As I commended Arnold to the grace of God, I directed the mourners’ attention there as well.
After the service, one of the family members came up and said, “I wondered how you would handle this. You helped me see things from a different perspective. I was locked into the details of his death, but you helped me see the bigger picture.”
I was glad the church had remained open to minister its unique word of hope, even in a situation where a believer’s hope had momentarily surrendered to despair.
What’s the Potential Harm of “Yes”?
Not every yes turns out quite so positive. Sometimes a no is most appropriate. The church must witness not only to the love and mercy of her Lord but also to his holiness. Saying no to some situations avoids the compromise of biblical standards.
There are many times when the people of God must simply draw the line. The law of Israel forbade graven images of God; Jesus said no to the practice of money changing in the temple; Paul prohibited lawsuits among believers and “unequal yoking” with those outside the faith. When the precedent of the Word is clear, so too are the choices ministers of the Word must make. A clear no gives a positive witness to the holiness and righteousness of the Lord.
I find I need to be doubly careful to consider the harm in saying yes, because saying yes is my natural tendency. I like to be agreeable. Like all pastors, I love to help, to get involved. And in a vocation that depends upon others’ good will, I want to be liked. So before I say yes, I think about how I will feel before the mirror or before the Lord. A yes may make me feel like a nice guy now, but will I feel as gratified later?
I learned this lesson, painfully, when I was asked to marry one young couple who were already expecting their first child. I saw the pain and desperation in the bride’s father. I remembered when a cousin of mine wandered from the church after a pastor refused to marry her (because her fiancย was Catholic). I hoped my involvement might lead to further ministry. And I knew they would marry anyway, and soon. Perhaps I could be a witness in this turbulent situation. So I agreed to perform the wedding.
Even during the ceremony itself, I wished I hadn’t. As I looked at them, I knew they were too young, too immature, too poorly prepared to build a healthy marriage. The incongruity between the Christian ideals expressed in the service and their lack of commitment stung. With all my heart I wished I had said no. As I prayed God’s blessing upon them, I silently asked that my fears for them would not be realized.
They were. The marriage was stormy and brief.
I have learned that when we say no, sometimes the outcome can be quite positive: it can call folks up short, give them pause, move them to repentance.
Recently I talked with a young divorced woman new to our community and our church. She told me how, as a new believer, she had married a non-Christian. Her former pastor advised against it and refused to officiate at the wedding. “I ignored his warnings,” she said, “and got someone else to marry us. Now I wish I hadn’t.” Their marriage fell apart after six months. She had nowhere to turn but to the church she had spurned. “I went back to the pastor and told him what had happened. I apologized for ignoring his advice and sought God’s forgiveness for straying from his church and his will.”
A no, as hard as it is to say, can be strongly redemptive.
What Is My Goal?
The problem in so many cases is that benefits and dangers are both present. There’s a strong argument to be made for both yes and no. That’s why I’ve learned to ask myself another question: What is my goal in this particular situation? What do I want to accomplish here?
My overall goal as a pastor is to behave in such a manner as to advance Christ’s ministry. But what will advance it most in this setting?
One of the things I consider in answering this question is the attitude of the church. For example, I’ve served at least one church that, I thought, had too few boundaries. As a whole, the congregation tended to be overly tolerant, both intellectually and morally. In that context, my inclination was toward a firmer approach that modeled the conviction of Christ. As judgment calls arose, part of my goal was to help provide a balance to the accepted (and somewhat loose) approach.
Other churches tend toward the opposite extreme: rigidity. In one, an elder and his wife, a deacon, had a 19-year-old daughter who had been living on her own for a year. During that time she became pregnant out of wedlock. When the couple learned about the situation, they came to the pastor fearful they would have to resign their positions of leadership.
In that case, the pastor encouraged them to stay on. With firm tact, he wanted to balance the Pharisaism of the congregation’s history.
A second thing I am sensitive to is the attitude of the people requesting my assistance. Are they seeking to use me and the church, or are they open to positive interaction? I look not so much at where they are as to where they are headed. If they are becoming increasingly open to Christ, and this request is part of that change, then I’m more inclined to say yes.
Brian and Mary asked me to marry them. Brian was a nominal Baptist; he was divorced and the father of one child. Mary was Roman Catholic. They had originally sought an annulment of Brian’s marriage so they could be married in the Catholic church, but the process became too long and expensive. Neither, by their own admission, claimed to be an active believer. Almost in passing, they mentioned they had been living together for several months.
I decided to be forthright with them. I told them their live-in relationship was not right in God’s eyes. I told them the Lord was not particularly fond of divorce, and that if I did agree to perform this wedding, his divorce would be one of the issues we would have to talk through.
“Thanks for being honest with us,” they said, a little surprised I had been so straightforward about their situation. “We’re willing to talk about where we are.”
I sensed in their response an openness. In the midst of this convoluted situation that offered few, if any, reasons to say yes, I felt there was an opportunity for ministry. I finally agreed to perform the wedding.
As one part of the premarital counseling process, I gave them reading materials about the Christian faith and the need for the Lord in their lives and marriage. But as I drove to the final session, reserved for in-depth discussion of spiritual matters, I wasn’t optimistic. I had had a miserable day, I was exhausted, and I didn’t want to spend an hour comparing Catholic doctrine and Baptist beliefs.
But Brian opened up as he never had before. “I work with a ‘real Christian,’ ” he said, “and I’ve come to respect him. I wonder what the difference is between his faith and mine.”
I invited him to answer his own question. After a long pause, he said, “I would probably have to say commitment.”
“I would agree with your observation,” I said. Then I turned to Mary. “How about you?” I asked. “How would you respond to the things Brian has been saying?”
“I’d have to say I’m in about the same place Brian is,” she said. “I believe in God and Jesus and all, but I’ve never committed myself to follow the Lord.”
That night, Brian and Mary were not yet ready to commit their lives to the Lord, but they were closer than ever before. They knew, perhaps for the first time in their lives, where they stood with the Lord. I felt some difficult ground had been gained for the kingdom. Because they were moving toward God and not away from him, I felt my involvement was the right decision.
Can Others Help?
My final question recognizes that I am susceptible to doing what is easiest rather than best. When a request is particularly thorny, I don’t hesitate to postpone it to ask advice from people I respect.
I have a standard policy, for example, that I never agree to marry a couple until I’ve visited with them.
That way, if the proposed union is going to have an impact on the congregation (e.g., the bride is the daughter of a deacon), I have time to think it through and talk it over with others. And if, after meeting with a couple, I’m still unsure how to respond, I will sometimes say, “I’d like to have a little more time to think through your request. Can I give you an answer in the next day or so?” I’ve never found a couple upset by this.
The people I talk with help me do two things.
Sort the situation. My main mentor is a seminary professor named Jim. I phone him, lay out the situation, and then tell him what I plan to do. “What do you think?” I ask. “Are there any blind spots in my thinking? If I head this way, how should I express my feelings to the people involved?”
As Jim helps me sort the situation, he helps me blend idealism and realism. When I need it, Jim keeps before me a vision of the ideal-the pure, unstained bride of Christ. At other times he reminds me of the real-the weak, bedraggled group of sinners, seekers, and sundry nonsaints that is every congregation. My goal-and Jim helps me reach it-is to be neither too pragmatic nor too idealistic.
For Jim to be of most help, I’ve discovered, I need to call him every week or so simply to talk about our lives and respective ministries. Then, when a judgment call comes up, he knows both the congregation and me well enough to offer helpful advice. And I’m close enough to him to welcome it. Yes, that means a weekly long-distance phone call, but I’ve long since determined that it’s a great investment for my congregation.
Sort my feelings. The person asking me to say yes is not the only person involved; I am, too. Sometimes I’ll call a counselor (a member of a former church) simply to process my involvement in the situation. Before I take action I want to be aware of any personal fears or needs that might cause an unhelpful response. She helps me sort my underlying motivations.
I should say, however, that I’m a firm believer in mixed motives. After being in the ministry for a while, I’ve given up on requiring motives that are 100 percent pure. While evaluating my motives is important, knowing they’ll be somewhat mixed helps me avoid the trap of overevaluation. In many cases, the right deed is vindication in itself.
Living Life Forward
Soren Kierkegaard once said, “We understand life backward but are called to live it forward.” While hindsight grows sharper as we get older, I still must face each unusual and difficult situation afresh. I have to live life forward and say either yes or no. I am never able to read completely the outcome of my actions, and thus, I must trust them to the Lord.
Marcie, a timid high school senior, called to ask if I could fill out the “Pastor’s Recommendation Form” to complete her application to a church-sponsored college in our community. I could barely put a face with the voice speaking to me over the phone. Her mother was still a member of our church, though the family had moved recently to another town some thirty miles away. Marcie had attended church irregularly even before the move, but I was the closest thing to a pastor she had. I told her I would need to speak with her before I could give even a limited recommendation.
I suppose every pastor has mixed emotions about such requests, be it an application for college or a camp counselor position or employment. When I know the person and can wholeheartedly write a positive recommendation, it is a celebration. But when I hardly know the one I’m supposed to be recommending, the whole idea grates a bit on my integrity. I try to be honest, yet writing “no opportunity to observe” in nearly every blank hardly seems like a recommendation. But hoping to open the door to further ministry, I gave a qualified yes to Marcie.
When Marcie came to my office the next day, we chatted about a lot of different things-home, school, future plans. There was occasion to touch upon where things stood between Marcie and the Lord. As I shared about God’s Good News, she listened, seemed moderately interested, and then politely thanked me for my time. I completed her recommendation as best I could and sent it off, wondering all the while what, if anything, might come out of such a brief visit. I still felt a bit foolish as I filled out her recommendation and left half of it blank. At any rate, she was accepted into the freshman class.
In the following years I ran into Marcie a few times around town and on campus, and once even in church. Then I got the news that she had begun her junior year carrying an extra load: she was pregnant. The next time I saw her again was in church. She slipped out quietly before I had a chance to greet her, but she had checked on our friendship pad that she would like a visit from the pastor.
We met at the campus coffee shop. After we exchanged greetings, she nervously launched into deeper water. “I guess you know I’m pregnant.”
I nodded. She told me the father had cut out when faced with the news that she was expecting. The pregnancy had caused her to rethink some basic assumptions about her life.
“I’ve been kind of drifting,” she admitted, “but now I have more to live for than just good times. I want to keep the baby and raise it. And I want to finish school.”
Then came the bolt: Marcie wanted to give her life to Christ. She had remembered our earlier conversation in my office. Later, interacting with Christian friends and observing her mother’s faith had made her realize she had been living outside of God’s plan. “I need his forgiveness and direction,” she said. “I know I’m going to need a lot of help with all this, but I’m ready to follow Jesus as best I know how.”
We walked to my car for greater privacy, and there I led her through a prayer in which Marcie claimed God’s forgiveness and asked Jesus to take over the reins of her life.
That prayer took. As the baby grew within her, Marcie grew in her faith. It was with wonder that I went to visit her and the babe in the hospital. Partly it was a realistic wondering how this mom and baby were going to overcome the major obstacles ahead of them. Marcie had to make it through her last year of college; the baby had to make it through his first year of life.
But my deeper wonder was this: While carrying this so-called illegitimate life, Marcie had been born anew unto life eternal. Under such circumstances, it was not hard to bless what God had been doing in Marcie to redeem her life from her previous aimlessness and sin. Nor was it hard to bless her newborn son, since he had been the occasion for his mom’s new birth. I was glad to open wide the church door for those two.
Rick McKinniss is pastor of Kensington Baptist Church in Kensington, Connecticut.
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