Reducing Ministry to Numbers

This is the fourth post in a series about ways that I have missed the mark as a pastor. It is a response to several articles about why young adults are leaving the church. You can begin here if you want some background to this current article.

I apologize for using the metrics of business to evaluate the success of our programs as if the effectiveness of ministry can be determined by numbers, charts and graphs.

Here’s where it gets really difficult to apologize. I believe that one of the reasons the Church is so slow to change is that we rarely evaluate what we do. We assume that because something worked in the past it will continue to work just as well in the future. So we need to look with a critical eye at what we do to determine its effectiveness. Unfortunately we have adopted evaluation tools from the world of business where efficiency and profitability are the goals. Even when a congregation can come to some kind of agreement about its goals (which is rare) finding a way to accurately evaluate what it does is almost impossible.

I remember the first time I asked a group of church leaders, “Why are we here?” We were sitting in the church basement on metal folding chairs huddled against the darkness that enveloped most of the room since there was no reason to light the whole room if we were just sitting in one section. After a brief silence someone asked, “You mean tonight?”

“No,” I said. “I mean why is the church here? Why do we keep going to all the trouble of being a church here in this community?”

If you ever want people to look at you like you were the biggest moron walking the face of the earth become a pastor and ask people to explain the purpose of the church as if you had no idea. That particular night the best reason they could come up with was along the lines of, “Because that’s the way it is supposed to be.”

Over the past 20 years congregations have become better at defining their purpose and goals. My experience is that it helps a congregation understand that they can’t live up to everyone’s expectations.  In Acts 6 the disciples wrestle with the issue of how to best use their time in service to others when some in the community begin to complain. They eventually decide that a particular ministry is important enough to continue doing but that it needed to be done by someone other than the 12 apostles. Even in the early church they struggled with both the purpose of the church and evaluating the effectiveness and details of the ministry.

In addition to simply needing a way to evaluate what we do I am also acutely aware that we have limited resources at our disposal. I have to be a good steward of what I have been given responsibility for. People also want to know that their money is being used wisely. If I can’t demonstrate some kind of return on their investment I can be sure that they will find ways to be generous with their time and finances in other places.

The problem is that the effectiveness of ministry can’t be shown using the metrics of efficiency and profitability. How do I evaluate the effectiveness of sitting with someone as they die? What level of efficiency is required to maintain a ministry that feeds the hungry without getting taken in by scam artists? What multiple choice answers do you put on a questionnaire to determine the impact of a sermon? How do I evaluate the internal response that parents and kids have when they see me supporting them at sporting events or music concerts? How do we determine whether it is a more profitable to use pastoral time having coffee with a congregation member or praying for the people who participate in ministries by feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, sheltering the homeless or mentoring at-risk youth?

These things don’t fit on charts and graphs. There are no numbers that can easily translate the effectiveness of ministry that isn’t meant to be efficient. This was the struggle that met the disciples when the woman anointed Jesus with the expensive perfume (Matthew 26). The disciples saw a more efficient and practical use for the perfume but Jesus praised the extravagance of the act both for its symbolism and for the way it demonstrated the woman’s love and devotion to Jesus. We just can’t put numbers on love and devotion.

I want to be extravagant and generous with the love and resources that I have at my disposal. But I want to be a good steward too. I feel trapped. There is a need to evaluate what we do as a Church but the metrics of business can’t be the tool that we use. So for the way I have reduced people to percentages, statistics and numbers I’m sorry. 

Recruiting for Christ

This is the third post in a series about ways that I have missed the mark as a pastor. It is a response to several articles about why young adults are leaving the church. You can begin here if you want some background to this current article.

I’m sorry for the way I deceive myself and others about the real reasons for evangelism. Honestly, my evangelism has a lot to do with recruiting people to share the burden of ministry with their time, talent and treasures.

I am an introverted Lutheran of Scandinavian and German descent. Evangelism is not something I do eagerly. Or often. I just can’t seem to engage a stranger in a discussion about something as deeply personal as faith. And yet Jesus commands his disciples to go and make more disciples. (Matthew 28)

The way that I’ve done this over the years is to adopt a Field of Dreams approach to evangelism: Build it and they will come. I have focused my time on developing inspiring worship, engaging classes and programs, and fun fellowship activities. Then I employ “bridge events” that encourage congregation members to invite friends to “come and see” in the hope that they will want to become a part of the congregation.

I have begun to see that this type of evangelism is all about recruiting people to become members of the congregation (see yesterday’s post When Faithful Looks Like Me). The true reasons for my congregation’s evangelical efforts are revealed when we speak with muted hope about prospective new people who will help us do the work and support the congregation’s programs with financial gifts. Now there is nothing wrong with inviting people to invest their time and treasures in ministry. The underlying hope, however,  is that someone will take my place, do my work and pay my share. We want more people involved so we don’t have to do as much.

It’s taken me 20 years to see it but my approach to evangelism creates an addictive cycle: I create programs and worship designed to get people to join the church. More people in the pews equals more money in the offering plate. More money the plate means more resources to hire staff and create new programs and better worship. Investing in programs and worship draws more people. It just keeps going.

  If another organization invited me to join them with thinly-veiled promises of fellowship and fun and then expected me to joyfully hand over two or more hours every week and a percentage of my paycheck for the rest of my life I would be very suspicious. Yet here I am doing that very thing.

So how do I keep Jesus’ command to make disciples without selfish, ulterior motives? What does evangelism look like in a church that isn’t trying to fill the pews and offering plates? Is it even possible?

My gut instinct is that evangelism has to do with showing people, with my words and actions, how close the kingdom of God is to this life. It’s about caring for people without regard to getting something in return. It’s more about the way I live than about where I belong. In fact, it actually begins to look like ministry and service, not recruiting. 

When Faithful Only Looks Like Me

I am sorry for assuming that the only way to live a faithful life is the way that I do it, within the confines of a congregation like mine.

 First of all I need to come to terms with the fact that I make this assumption regularly. I see it in the way I am disappointed when people won’t commit to a program that we implement. I hear it in staff meetings when we (with loving intention) refer to people who don’t belong to a church community as people whose lives are less-than-complete. Whenever I nod my head or commiserate along with another church member about those who “just don’t get it,” I live out the assumption that non-members are not as fulfilled or blessed as I am.

I think the obvious reason I do this is because it has been drilled into my head to think this way. Belonging to the community of believers is a large part of what Christianity is all about. And what better way to show that you belong than by participating in the activities of the community. Growing up, and even in seminary, I was taught that we are in competition. No one ever called it a competition but faith has always been referred to in terms of  “We” and “Them.” “We believe this way. They believe that way.” It was implicit in the descriptions of faith. You are one of us if you believe and behave the way we do. You are not one of us if you do otherwise. The social ramifications of being in a group or exiled from it are buried so deep in our heads that we barely recognize them even when they are pointed out.

Another reason that I assume the only way to live a faithful life is within a congregation like mine is because I want my work and my life to be validated. As a pastor I want to know that the work that I do has meaning and value to others. So as I preach and lead worship, as I teach classes and try to inspire people to live more selfless lives I want to know that it’s happening. For many reason I’ve come to equate participation in church activities with changed lives. No matter how many times I tell myself  that I am just planting seeds I really want to see the harvest to know whether or not my planting has been in vain.

As a pastor it is also easy to let the church become my whole world. I’m here at the church building or meeting with other church leaders or members almost constantly. I take continuing education classes sponsored by church agencies  My friends are members of the church or other pastors. It is a very insulated world in which I live.

A few years ago I began to get out of this insulated world. I took a continuing education class sponsored by the local university. Through that program I have met a several people who have shown me that Christ is at work outside of the church as much as in it. Then as part of a volunteer opportunity at my children’s high school I began meeting people who lived in very Christ-like ways even though they didn’t belong to a congregation. The peace, patience, kindness and forgiveness that I saw in them was in direct contradiction to a lot of the infighting I saw within the church.

Both of these experiences have helped me see another reason I continually make this assumption. It has to do with arrogant self-righteousness. I want to believe that I’ve made the right decision. I want to feel good about my decisions in life. Whenever someone decides to participate in a congregation like mine it’s like someone congratulating me for being on the winning team. Whenever someone goes elsewhere I find that I rationalize their decision so it doesn’t reflect negatively on me.

I want to believe that community of believers is much more than the people who show up for worship on Sunday morning. At some level I believe that it is. But I also want to be able to see it. I want to point at it. I want it to be visible when I have been told it is like the wind or like yeast in bread dough.  I can know that it’s there I just can’t separate it out and draw a circle around it.

Changing the way I think about this is turning out to be a long, slow transition made even harder by the abundance of people within the church who make the same assumption. With each passing comment I am reminded of my own false assumptions and my limited view of the work the Spirit is doing in the world. I understand the impatience of waiting for me (or others in the church) to bring my thinking alongside the evidence that I am being shown.

So please don’t believe that you have to belong to a church to be a part of the Church. The Spirit will provide community and support as you need it. Be open to the opportunities for fellowship, learning and worship that look different than they have in the past. That is where you will find the Church in faithful living.

With Apologies

Recently I have read some blogs by people who, by all accounts I can see, are God-centered people. What they have been writing about is why they, or others, have left the church. (Here are a couple by Christian Piatt: Seven Reasons Why Young Adults Quit Church and Four More BIG Reasons Young Adults Quit Church and one by Rachel Held Evans: 15 Reasons I Left the Church.)

My first response to these articles is, “Yeah. Me too.” These are the reasons I want to leave the church. But I can’t seem to do it for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that, as a pastor, my family and I depend on the paycheck that I collect for being a part of the church.  I truly believe that the Holy Spirit it at work outside of the institutional church and I want to be at work where the Holy Spirit is but I’m genuinely having trouble making the transition.

My second response is that I want to apologize. I want to apologize on behalf of the Church. But I can't. I can only apologize for the way that I have represented the Church as a leader and for the way that I have participated in the very things that have driven people away. I apologize for:

Another Look at Cell Phones in Church

This morning I received an email from a friend and fellow pastor with a link to a YouTube video about cellphones in church. It's cute and is meant to be a humorous look at the way electronics can be a distraction in worship. Then I saw another pastor post the same video on Facebook.

So here's what bothers me about this video:

First of all I completely understand the frustration of having sermons, prayers and worship interrupted by ring tones and other electronic alarms. It's disrespectful. There really is no other way to put it. It is disrespectful to the preacher as well as to other worshipers. It draws our attention away from what we are doing in worship. It pulls us out of the moment even if we don't answer the call and even if it isn't meant for us.But so does a crying baby or a someone with a cough.

Right now our culture is trying to decide whether or not constant interruptions in our daily life are worth the ability to stay connected to our network of family and friends. The cultural jury is still out on this one. I personally think that there are times when we should turn off the gadgets but I grew up in a different time, before digital communication. I'm not native to this culture but I'm trying to adapt.

Part of adapting means learning how phones are becoming an extension of who we are as people. We use them as additions to our memory storage abilities. We use them to expand our knowledge base. I have at least two members of my congregation who have talked to me about how they use their smart phones in worship to remind themselves to reflect later on something said in a sermon or to look up a reference on the spot. Using their phones actually deepens the worship experience for them. And what would it be like to have people in the congregation Tweet or post to Facebook statements and ideas they received in worship?

The trade-off is that whenever we are connected to the outside world the outside world is connected to us. And that's not always a bad thing. Too often worship is understood as this "other-worldly" activity where we try to isolate ourselves away from the distractions of the world in order to focus on God. The problem with this is that God is actually trying to get us to focus on the world. Isn't that why we believe that Jesus is the embodied form of God? Isn't that why we use earthly elements (water, wine, bread) for the sacraments? Isn't that why we preach a Gospel that frees us from the power of sin and death so that we are freed to serve this distraction-filled world in the name of Jesus?

If we, as the leaders of the church, don't start to get over ourselves and meet people where they are then the important and relevant message of our faith will get lost in a cultural language that is being spoken by fewer and fewer people. The very fact that we meet them where they are is an experience of grace. Insisting that people conform to a particular pattern of behaviors (laws?) to be welcomed into the worshiping community is exactly the opposite.

Grieving an American Tragedy

Her life played out like an ancient Greek tragedy: Humble beginnings; a God-given gift; a rise to greatness, a decline and fall; a too-soon death.

I didn't watch the Grammy tribute to Whitney Houston last night but I saw the 20 minute recap on the national news shows this morning. I was impressed by the prayer led by LL Cool J giving thanks for having been touched by her life and gift as well as naming the grief and shock of the day. The singers and musicians who paid tribute to her art did so beautifully and with heartfelt emotion.

It's no surprise that her death has caused sadness and grieving among her fans and her musical colleagues. Such grief searches for public expression. But I am conflicted by the ways in which the media is evolving as a leader in public grief. They have begun to serve as priest for the public masses, framing the story of a life with select and edited stories. News and talks shows (which are becoming the exact same things) serve as the host of a wake where loved ones and friends of the deceased share stories and memories and try to make sense of a life and a death.

In many ways this is necessary for such a public figure as Whitney Houston. Even though her death causes grief among the people of my congregation, we will not hold a vigil or even a special service because she was not a member of our faith community. So it is necessary for the someone or something to serve as the priest that  puts her life and death into context. There will be clips of concerts and movies and television interviews. There will be sound bites from colleagues, friends and fans. We might even hear someone talk about the tragedy of her personal choices to use drugs to numb the pain that she felt.

But what we won't hear is a critique of the system that raised her up to great heights and then stood by as the fame and pressure of being a star overwhelmed her. We won't hear about music and film industries that paid her lots of attention and money but profited even more for itself. And while the Grammy Award show paid loving tribute and the morning news/talk shows reflect admiringly on Whitney's career, none of them will talk about how they profit from these public displays of grief. We won't hear this from the media because they are part of the system that both made and watched idly by as this tragedy unfolded.

Perhaps my biggest concern, though, is that the media doesn't understand that it is taking over this very public role. So when the clips and segments are assembled they aren't done with an eye towards helping a grieving group of people they are done with an eye towards increased ratings and being the first to report it. Grief takes time and being patient is the last thing that media can afford to be. For the most part, this is an old story already. It will be mentioned again when her funeral is reported on and when the coroner releases the cause of her death. Tomorrow we will see the media move on to other stories.

The real tragedy here is that we don't have public grieving rituals for people (or events) who occupy a national or global presence. As we become more globally connected to people we will never meet in person we need to find ways to express our grief at their loss that are better than a 20 minute recap on the news the day after their death. If we can't find ways to grieve the pain of these losses it will only cause more pain in the long run.

Candy Taxes & Tithes

When my children were younger and spent Halloween racing from house to house toting a pillow case they would come home with as much as six pounds of candy. It would all be dumped in a pile on the living room floor; one pile for my son and one for my daughter. They would stare at the loot for a moment, taking it all in like Daffy Duck staring at a room full of gold coins. And then they would start sorting through the pile, looking for their favorites and deciding which three or four pieces (their allotted amount for Halloween night) they would devour before cleaning up and heading off to bed with sugar-fueled dreams.

That's when Amy or I would remind them of the Candy Tax, the price that was paid to the heads-of-household in thanksgiving for letting them live under our roof, eat our food and participate in the annual costume-and-candy-grab festival of Halloween. This wasn't mean. This was a life lesson. "Soon you will be paying real taxes to the government," we told them. And the Bible tells us to tithe our earnings and give 10% to God. We didn't want the poor darlings to think that they could keep 100% of what they had received. Someone is always going to lay claim to part of what you think is yours. We simply wanted to be good parents and teach them about life.

(Disclaimer: Honestly this practice had way more to do with the fact that free candy tastes better than purchased candy. And when I started sporting a beard and passed the 200 lbs. mark, dressing up and asking neighbors for candy (even though they were already handing it out for free) seemed a bit creepy. The whole "teach my kids a lesson" gambit didn't fool anyone. They knew what was up.)

My kids learned to keep us away from their piles so we couldn't get a look at what they had acquired. They would come to us with offerings of candy in hopes of appeasing our stringent demands. But a third-grade sized hand carrying two waxy chocolate balls wrapped in foil that looks like an eye ball, a cellophane packet of off-brand Sweet-Tarts with candy coating and three snot-green Jolly Ranchers doesn't cut it. I saw the people down the street drop two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in your bag! I can see that Heath Bar on top of your pile from here! And no, I don't want a Dum Dum sucker of any flavor. They remind me of getting shots at the doctor's office.

Six weeks later we would find remnants of the Halloween stash buried in their closets. We would ask if they wanted anymore of the candy. They would tell us no. I would take it and hand it out as game prizes in Confirmation Class.

I'm afraid this Halloween ritual of ours reveals an awful lot about human behavior. It shines a light on our greed and our fear of having things taken away from us as well as how fast we become bored by things that once held an immense appeal to us.

I'm also afraid that my behavior reflects the reality of some of the greater institutions in our culture; the government, corporations and the church. Each of these entities feels entitled to a portion of what we have received. Each one justifies its entitlement by providing something in exchange for our taxes, patronage or tithes. If that was the whole truth of the matter I would have no problem with it. But reckless government spending, outrageous corporate profits (if you are making billions in profits, perhaps you could help the world economy by lowering your prices) and church foundations and endowments reveal a greater concern for the institutions than the people they serve.

The government needs taxes to serve the needs of the republic. Corporations need profits to be able to supply people with goods and services. Churches need tithes to do the work of the church. But when these institutions lose sight of who they are serving and the fact that they exist to serve they simply scare away those who can help them the most.

I wish I had been more thankful and encouraged my children's generosity when it arose naturally. Despite my blunders they are pretty generous people. I plan on paying back all those candy taxes and tithes with interest. But, like my parents, I'm not going to give it to my kids. I'm going to give it my grandchildren.