Books for implementing change in a congregation often read like technical manuals. “Seek congregational input, get leaders on board, draft vision statement, alter course, start new ministry.” They’re all about techniques.
But successful change is as equally dependent on feelings as facts. How do the church members feel about the new direction?
The key to thriving in change is not found in casting a bigger vision, mastering the Powerpoint presentation, or escaping to an island paradise until things blow over. It’s in the interactions that we, as pastors, have with our people.
I learned that when my shiny new worship service blew up in my face.
Several years ago we developed a contemporary service. Following the advice of several church growth gurus, we added rather than subtracted. We inserted the new service between two traditional services, opposite our Christian education hour. Not only were we able to disturb very little of our established Sunday morning structure, we also gave some parents a second option. They could worship instead of dropping their children off for Sunday school while they had coffee and donuts at a nearby restaurant.
Discordant notes were soon heard, though, over the rhythmic beat of the contemporary music that echoed through our hallowed halls. We had difficulty recruiting enough workers for three services. We had parking problems and jammed hallways. Attendance increased, but not enough to fill the large sanctuary three times. We couldn’t sustain three services.
The church faced a watershed. We could drop the contemporary service, thus alienating a significant portion of our congregation. Or, we could drop a traditional service and disenfranchise another significant group. Somebody had to lose.
After four months of discussion and prayer, the congregation voted to alter the future by establishing the contemporary worship experience as our second Sunday worship service.
Within days of the decision, the relational fabric of our church tore. Anger and fear snuffed out love and care. Sarcasm and criticism supplanted praise and encouragement. Everyone was frowning.
At first I attempted to mend the tear through logic and persuasion. After all, I reasoned, Christians are rational people. (No, I don’t know where that assumption came from.) My illogical assessment almost wrecked the congregation.
When I started to lead our church in this direction, I did so from a logical perspective. My logic was as solid as a mathematical formula:
People’s need to experience a living God + The Great Commission to proclaim the gospel = A user-friendly, contemporary service. I became as adept with graphs and pie charts as Ross Perot.
As the conflict erupted once more, I again pulled out my charts and graphs. I quoted Rick Warren, Lyle Schaller, Bill Easum, and other experts. It didn’t work. No one listened to my logic, or if they did, they did not comprehend it. No one’s attitude was changed.
Not the kidneys
Through the total failure of my arguments, I finally saw that the reaction to change, no matter how logical the change may be, is not logical. It’s emotional.
This is not only a sociological observation, but also a description of a neurological process. During change, the cerebrum, where thought occurs and which controls much of our human activity, is overruled by the thalamus.
The thalamus is the seat of our emotions. It is often called the mammalian part of the brain because its emotions of love, nurture, and loyalty link us with our fellow warm-blooded creatures. (Paul D. MacLean first proposed this idea in his article “A Triune Concept of the Brain and Behavior.”)
This is an uncomfortable concept for cerebral me. One of my strengths is my ability to reason. When the bickering started over what I thought were a few reasonable changes, that strength became a serious weakness. Like most of us burdened with a Y chromosome, I don’t deal well with emotions. I realized this during a conversation with a woman who came to complain about the new service.
It wasn’t Lutheran, she said.
I offered a few facts to prove that the service was indeed Lutheran. She insisted it was not.
“It doesn’t feel Lutheran,” she moaned.
In response, I slowly and more forcefully pointed out the reasons why even Martin Luther would bless this service. She nodded during my explanation but replied, “It still doesn’t feel Lutheran.”
Suddenly, I heard the word feel. She was right. Our contemporary service didn’t feel Lutheran. For Lutherans who had cut their teeth on a communion rail, it felt strange and uncomfortable. Worship at that service was like donning the latest teen fashion. It felt funny, looked silly, and wasn’t really “them.” It invoked a wide variety of feelings—confusion, discomfort, vulnerability, and anger.
I took the woman’s hand in mine. “You’re right,” I said, “It doesn’t feel Lutheran, and that’s scary isn’t it?”
She sighed. Her shoulders slumped as her muscles relaxed. “Yes, it is.” Her feelings had been heard and acknowledged.
That moment I resolved to put away my flip charts, dry erase markers, and interactive videos. Instead of attempting to prove I was right, I would seek to hear the pain and confusion that many of my flock were feeling.
Their emotions were similar to those encountered during illness, broken relationships, and job loss. After all, on some level, they had lost something. And they feared losing more.
As their pastor I could walk with them through their struggle and share the good news of God’s love and presence, even in a time of change.
“I feel your pain” isn’t enough
It almost seems trite to say that the most effective way to lead most people through change is to love them, to provide a sensitive, caring pastoral presence. Ed Friedman, author of Generation to Generation, from the perspective of his family systems approach to ministry, would add the adjective “non-anxious.” Of course the cliche immediately comes to mind, “It’s easier said than done.”
The congregation in transition requires specialized care. Here are a few principles that provide the foundation for artistic and skillful pastoral ministry to a congregation feeling the pain of change. These practices enable us to grow personally and professionally, while we nurture our flock at the same time.
The first rule is to speak the language of emotion. This is not to say that we talk down to people—a theological stalwart addressing a fragile, emotional being—like some adults talk to children. The logical pastor’s temptation is to view the language of emotion as inferior to rational speech, that we are lowering ourselves to another person’s level. That’s as counterproductive as persisting in addressing emotional pain with logic.
And it is not effective to spice our conversation with a few feely phrases. It’s more than saying “I feel your pain.”
The language of emotion is a different language—for many of us a foreign language. We may never become fluent in it, but we must at least become conversant. It is learned as we grow in the awareness of our own feelings, develop sensitivity to the emotions of others, and struggle to express those emotions.
The amazing thing about the language of emotion is that it goes beyond words. Its vocabulary includes presence, touch, and body language. A hand squeeze can say, “I understand and I’m here for you,” more effectively than the spoken words.
Another key to establishing a loving pastoral presence is offering public prayers of blessing and thanksgiving for everyone in the congregation, even those who are agitated. This appears to be a no-brainer, but in the emotionally charged environment of change, it is often forgotten.
Staring down an angry lion
When a church member, out of fear and vulnerability, impugns my integrity as a pastor, it’s a challenge to respond in a loving manner. It’s very difficult for me to be non-anxious when three council members storm into my office and declare that they—”and countless other members who wish to remain anonymous”—are upset.
Some people’s automatic response to change is anger, and the pastor is the natural target. The pastor, after all, allowed, welcomed, or even caused the upsetting thing. In this situation, a better term for non-anxious is unflappable.
Not long after we instituted the contemporary service, a children’s Sunday school teacher came roaring into my office seeking someone to devour.
“You are destroying the faith of our children,” she began.
She reminded me of a lioness: the welfare of her cubs was threatened and she was on the attack. I planted my feet firmly on the carpet, looked her straight in the eye, and endured her roar (while my knees shook and I fought the urge to turn and run). “Now they must choose between worship and Sunday school.”
“I share your concern,” I assured her. “We’re here to build children’s faith, not destroy it. That’s why we started a children’s class on Wednesday evenings.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
Reasonable concern. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll address it. But we should give this a chance to work before we condemn it.”
Her roaring lessened to a throaty growl. I shared some options she might consider and listened to her objections. Eventually we settled on a plan that involved minimal changes on her part.
She left my office a little less a lioness. A few weeks later, when I called her up to check on how the changes affected her, her roaring had ceased.
Not every scenario is wrapped up so neatly, but when faced with angry challenges, look for the sources behind the anger. Sometimes it’s pain that’s become very intense or fear that can’t find appropriate expression.
When the roaring starts, it’s tempting to limit our contact with people we feel are dangerous. We either put a fence around them in an effort to control them, or we develop a convenient excuse for avoiding them. Neither works. Fences increase anxiety. And broken, distant relationships are a classic definition of a sick congregation.
Don’t fake it ’til you make it
There are times when I haven’t been up to the challenge of demonstrating a non-anxious pastoral presence. When this has happened, I have fallen into the trap of faking it. That’s a big mistake.
Some of the most embarrassing and pathetic images in my memory are those times I tried to bluff when I was scared. Everybody saw right through me.
If we are anxious, it is best to admit it. It doesn’t necessarily mean that we are headed in the wrong direction. More likely, it simply affirms that pastors are human, too, struggling with doubts like the rest of our brothers and sisters. Being non-anxious is not about the pastor’s strength, it’s about the pastor’s faith.
It’s about our actions being based on our faith, not our fear.
Along with our confession, we can point to the great “Non-Anxious Presence.” After all, it is in God that we place our faith and our hope, not pastors, visions, or congregational health. God will create within us a believing heart when we act in faith— affirmation follows action.
This truth should be affirmed frequently in a changing congregation. Change brings with it over-sensitivity, hurt feelings, and anger. Because of this, it is necessary for emotional awareness, honesty, and forgiveness to be abundant in a congregation going through transition.
Four years have passed since we started the contemporary service. It is now our largest service, and most of our visitors attend it. There are still a few who would like to have things the way they were. The majority, though, has learned that what really unifies us is our faith and commitment to mission.
I’m still tempted at times to argue logically for change. When I catch myself reaching for a marker to illustrate my point, I’m more likely now to stop and ask, “How do you feel about this idea?”
Yes, logic and discernment must guide the leader, but in dealing with resistance among the followers, change is primarily an emotional issue from beginning to end.
Kevin Ruffcorn is pastor of Trinity Lutheran Church in Appleton, Wisconsin.
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