Page 3495 – Christianity Today (2024)

A church can sink in a hurry. Ours did. We never would have predicted it.

A year ago, Trinity Episcopal Church was a vibrant parish. While the congregation contained both conservatives and liberals, we had a peaceful and healthy coexistence. The pastoral staff identified themselves as evangelical, as did most of the Christian education workers, and (in the spirit of full disclosure) so did I, a seminary-educated layman who served on the church board. The Vestry—the governing board—well represented the theological make-up of the congregation, with a 10-4 conservative majority.

Now a year later—September 2004—the entire pastoral staff is gone, attendance is down 75 percent, most of the Christian education leaders have either left the church or are hesitant to sign up for another year of duty. The parish is deeply discouraged, mission giving is down, and the near future of the parish looks bleak, financially and spiritually.

While a number of incidents conspired to sink the hundred-year-old Trinity, for the sake of this article, I'd like to look at our leadership. Our pastor, Father Collin Shaw, is neither evil nor incompetent. He was largely responsible in his eight years of ministry for the overall vigor of the congregation as it existed on August 5, 2003. In the months that followed, he often led with political and spiritual savvy. But in the end, some of the mistakes he, and those of us in leadership, made proved to be terribly damaging.

All names have been changed in this article because I see no need to hurt or embarrass anyone at Trinity, especially Father Collin. Like the captain of the Titanic, he is a good man and a good leader whose mistakes in judgment contributed significantly to the capsizing of the good ship Trinity. Perhaps these errors will be instructive for other churches heading into treacherous seas.

The precipitating event was international news. On August 5, at its 2003 national gathering, the Episcopal Church in the United States of America (ecusa) elected to the office of bishop Gene Robinson, a man who had left his wife and children and was living with a hom*osexual partner.

In addition, the convention agreed to let dioceses create experimental services that would bless same-sex unions. One side celebrated a victory for human rights. The other was appalled at the blatant repudiation of biblical ethics. The vote created a rift among both American Episcopalians and the body to which ecusa is a "constituent member," the worldwide Anglican Communion.

No longer could we talk about biblical teaching or theological truth or what was best for the church. Every decision became personal: "If you do this, you're telling me to leave."

The Primates—heads of Anglican provinces worldwide—gathered in Canterbury in October and declared unanimously that ecusa's actions were divisive and that it should not proceed with Robinson's ordination. In November, a handful of ecusa bishops (including the presiding bishop, Frank Griswold) defied the admonitions of the worldwide Communion, laid hands on Robinson and made him a bishop.

The international reverberations are still being felt. But for Trinity Church, the crisis has been primarily local, and the damage immediate and visible. Here are six missteps by the pastor and those of us in leadership that contributed to the damage.

1. Don't let threats dictate actions

During the first Vestry meeting after the crisis, we were considering a motion that would have put the church on record as repudiating the actions of the recent General Convention. As the motion was being discussed, Jane, a liberal member, blurted out on the verge of tears, "If this passes, I'm leaving the church."

Since the Vestry had enjoyed cordial relationships to that point, such a stark ultimatum shocked all present, and soon the motion was tabled so that everyone's feelings and views could be more fully heard.

The motive was noble, but it created an atmosphere that turned out to be disastrous. Some conservatives became resentful at what they considered Jane's manipulation of the process. Others were angry at Father Collin for succumbing to that manipulation. Others just wanted to avoid any uncomfortable public disagreement.

In the ensuing months, threat-inflation became an unsavory fact of church life, as members on each side threatened to leave or hold back their pledges at various junctures.

Given the history of the Vestry, it was difficult to simply pass over Jane's ultimatum and consider the primary issue on the table. The feelings of a faithful member can't be ignored. But from then on, when such threats were made, they kept reframing the issue. No longer could we talk about biblical teaching or theological truth or what was best for the church. In essence, such threats made every decision personal: "If you do this, you're telling me to leave."

One senior pastor I worked with in another church handled this sort of thing much more effectively. A wealthy member came in to complain about the youth minister, saying that if her concerns weren't addressed, she would withdraw her pledge and maybe leave the church. The pastor listened carefully and then said, "I'll be saddened if you withdraw your pledge and leave; I want you to continue here. But whether you continue here or not, this young man is our youth minister. We'll help him grow and improve as a minister, but we're standing by him."

The woman understood that her concerns were heard but also that her threats would not be the deciding factor.

2. Avoid the unanimity trap

Naturally, in leading a divided parish, the more unanimity you can achieve at the board level the better. If the parish sees that the board unanimously agrees to do X, Y, and Z, even if the motions are intrinsically controversial, it goes a long way with the congregation.

The problem with insisting on unanimity, of course, is that an entrenched minority, even one person, can force the group into compromises that make everyone else feel they've lost.

From the beginning, it was important to the conservative majority that the Vestry publicly announce its intention to be a biblically orthodox parish and explicitly denounce the actions of the General Convention. Both halves were important, because the first without the second would have not addressed the issue facing the church. No one objected to resolutions about biblical authority, because everyone believed they were indeed following the Bible. But any resolution condemning the General Convention's actions was unacceptable to the liberals.

Father Collin was a good consensus builder. He had been able to get controversial and risky decisions made by the Vestry—like the go-ahead to add a multi-million dollar wing to the building. So it was important to Father Collin that the Vestry act unanimously in this crisis.

The first resolution, in August, spoke vaguely about the crisis facing the Episcopal Church, the need for prayer and dialogue as the church worked through the issue. Conservatives were frustrated that despite their 10-4 majority, they could not say anything stronger than this, but they acquiesced to Father Collin's desire for unanimity.

A second set of resolutions in November was more controversial (and too complex to detail here), but still achieved unanimity after a compromise was worked out. At the time, I was thrilled because I thought it a realistic compromise. I felt the liberals had conceded a lot, and this was a way to move ahead.

But talking with other conservatives (those who had not personally worked out the compromise), I was shocked to discover that most of them thought they had been defeated! They were alternately angry and depressed. They felt a small minority had derailed the needed action, forcing their will on the majority.

Seeking unanimity did not prevent loss of members. But instead of a few liberal members leaving, we now started losing conservative families. Insisting on unanimity gives a minority extraordinary power. We had used consensus well when it came to controversial decisions about the budget or whether to start new construction. But that model failed us when the issues turned on biblical authority and matters of conscience. Unanimity was, in the end, more costly than making a tough but timely decision earlier.

3. Amid a crisis, don't seek affirmation of your leadership

It was one of Father Collin's most unfortunate moves, but one I've seen many pastors make. In the midst of the crisis, Father Collin inadvertently asked for a vote of confidence regarding his leadership.

Leading up to the November meeting, Father Collin said to Vestry, "I can't in good conscience serve under a bishop that defies orthodox biblical teaching and the admonitions of the worldwide Anglican Communion." What he was implying was that if the church did not seek and gain alternative oversight from an orthodox bishop, he was not going to be able to stay as rector.

It was appropriate to acknowledge where he stood on the issue. But raising it in this very personal way had an unfortunate consequence: the issue now was whether the congregation should back Father Collin. It changed the focus from the Episcopal crisis and placed it on our rector's need for a different reporting relationship.

Initially, this move seemed to solidify the congregation. Conservatives responded emotionally: "We need to pass this motion to keep Father Collin!" Liberals, who didn't want to leave the diocese, nonetheless wanted to support Father Collin. They were basically loyal people—loyal to the diocese no matter what it did, and loyal to their rector, no matter where he stood on issues.

But while it appeared to unify people, the only thing that united everyone was a feeling of affection for Father Collin. It didn't address the substantive issues dividing the church, and in another couple of months, when Father Collin became discouraged and openly talked of going to another church, everyone, left and right, was devastated. How could he do that after we had shown him such support?

Another way to handle the crisis was demonstrated by a rector in British Columbia. That parish was deeply troubled because its bishop had sanctioned same-sex ceremonies. The rector decided he could no longer honor his vows to obey his bishop, so he too wanted to seek alternative oversight.

But he never made this a referendum about himself. Instead he led the congregation as best he could. Asking his governing board to support him, he called a series of congregational meetings, limited to 25 people each, and he explained what the issues were and what he thought the parish should do.

After making the rounds, he called a meeting of the entire parish. He called for a vote to leave the diocese, and 99 percent voted to leave. The parish has remained united, despite some turbulent moments since.

To be sure, it's important for a pastor to say clearly where he stands on an issue, but in our case, issues would not have been confused if Father Collin has emphasized not his but the congregation's situation. If it was not right for him to live under a non-orthodox bishop, it was also not right for the congregation to do so. If the corporate situation had been emphasized, the issue would not have devolved on keeping Father Collin at all costs.

4. Don't invoke the family factor

As the crisis evolved, the pressure on Father Collin started to be felt by his family. Some insensitive members made disparaging remarks about Father Collin in front of his wife. This, naturally, bothered her deeply. The tension also affected his two girls, who had difficulty sleeping, and came down with flu and headaches.

Father Collin was concerned and told me privately, "I'm not going to continue to pastor here if it's going to affect my family like this."

I certainly appreciate the need "not to sacrifice my family on the altar of ministry." We've all seen families destroyed by pastors who were inattentive to the home. But there are certain professions in which, during a crisis, the family simply has to come second for a time.

A fireman cannot tell the fire chief, "I'm not going to enter that burning building and rescue those people because, well, it's a risk, and my wife and my kids lose sleep when they know I'm on the job." The captain of a sinking ship doesn't jump into the first lifeboat because he has a family to think about.

There are some jobs—and they tend to be the most vital in a community—in which pressure, worry, gossip, and rejection are felt not just by the person but also by his family. Pastoring is one of those vital jobs. Pastors are wise to remind their families how vital their calling is to the community, and how difficult that calling will be sometimes, not only for the pastor but for the family.

This confusion only complicated things. Since Father Collin was wondering which responsibility came first—family or congregation—his loyalties were divided. The question wasn't just "What's right for the congregation?" It was also "What's best for my family: staying here or finding another church?"

This is not something a pastor should be thinking about in a crisis, any more than a fireman should be thinking about changing jobs in the middle of a fire.

5. Take control of heated meetings

In January, during the last meeting for those about to finish their term of office (about a third of the Vestry, nearly all conservatives), patience had run out. Conservatives kept pushing the Vestry to pass one motion about the authority of Scripture and a clear condemnation of General Convention's actions.

They were increasingly irritated by the months-long process of refining this motion. As the motion was again being discussed, one irritated conservative called for the question. Others managed to keep discussion going for another ten minutes. Feelings were running high.

"You're being disloyal to this parish and trying to start a breakaway church," one member shouted. Voices were raised and several people were shouting at once. Things started to spiral out of control. Eventually time for discussion ran out, and the resolution was put to a vote, a resolution that included the phrase: "We affirm that the Church is not able to 'ordain anything contrary to God's Word written.' Therefore we reject the decisions of the 74th General Convention to ratify the election of Gene Robinson as Bishop of New Hampshire, and to recognize the blessing of same-sex unions."

It passed 7-5 with one abstention (one conservative member was absent; another voted against the motion because he felt the decision was being rushed). The liberals were naturally disappointed and angry. Among the conservatives was hardly a feeling of triumph, only deep weariness and frustration about the opposition they had endured for so long. Ill feelings remained, and when the meeting finally broke up (without the customary closing prayer), people left hurriedly and those on opposite sides didn't even speak to one another.

Father Collin is by nature a calm man, able to discuss the most controversial issues in a most amicable way. When it came to one-on-one conversations during the crisis, this served him well. But when people started shouting accusations at one another, Father Collin, the one person both sides respected, didn't interject himself into the fray to settle things down.

He could have said something like, "Can we slow down for moment? This is out of bounds. We can't be making personal attacks. I'd like to hear what Susan has to say, then we'll have Phil explain his remarks, but let's stick to the issue."

This is pretty standard conflict management advice, admittedly not easy to practice in a tense moment, but nonetheless critical.

6. Don't talk about leaving

A constellation of factors started to wear Father Collin down. The biggest, of course, was the matter of conscience: he could no longer promise to obey his bishop when he felt his bishop was breaking biblical and ecclesiastical standards.

Collin also was increasingly paralyzed by divisive meetings. His family was reeling, and he could not imagine what a "win" would look like. His vocational eyes started seriously wandering by December.

That is human and understandable. What was less understandable was his need to tell people that he was considering an offer from another parish.

Thus once again, the Episcopal crisis—over serious moral and theological issues—took second place, and once again, the issue at Trinity became Father Collin.

Liberals who felt they had sacrificed principle to show him loyalty were angry. Conservatives who were desperate for his leadership were in a panic. A handful of conservatives called an emergency meeting on New Year's Eve to talk about what to do.

Why not start an independent church in the area, and ask Father Collin to lead it? When word got out that some of that group were on the Vestry—well, members were rightly alarmed. Here were people who had taken vows to guide and protect Trinity, and they were talking about splitting the church!

At this point, issues got complex as never before. It was now impossible to separate people's feelings regarding hom*osexuality, Scriptural authority, Father Collin, the Episcopal church, and the actions of conservative Vestry members.

Father Collin could have nipped this new church conversation in the bud—or encouraged the group to move forward with their plans. Instead, he continued to say that he was thinking about moving elsewhere, and that he was not sure what he thought about the church start-up, and that he was praying about what exactly he should do. It was no doubt a sincere effort to seek the will of God, but going public with his options and indecision only allowed uncertainty and confusion to fester.

Epilogue: Sheep without a shepherd

By the end of January, Father Collin announced that he was leaving Trinity to pastor a church a thousand miles away. A combination of political reality, concern for his family, and a sense of God's leading prompted him to resign. I'm sure he found himself at the end of his spiritual and psychological rope.

Perhaps it was the right thing to do, all things considered, but what needs to be acknowledged in such a moment is that with his resigning, Trinity disintegrated. Sheep without a shepherd simply can't sustain any sense of direction.

Conservatives lost another seat at the next Vestry election (two weeks after the resignation). Within a month, three more conservative Vestry members resigned (two of whom had just been elected). A month after that, the children's ministry director resigned, as did the youth director. By mid-summer, most conservative members of the church had left.

Today, Trinity averages 150 in worship, down from over 400 the previous year. With that downturn comes the usual plethora of financial "challenges." The remaining congregation, which includes a handful of conservatives who for a variety of reasons feel the need to hang on, is deeply discouraged.

History, personalities, and a complex matrix of other factors all played a role in this crisis. I've noted some of the mistakes of Father Collin, but I can't sit in judgment on him because I concurred with many of his decisions at the time.

The lessons outlined above are merely six of many that could be pointed out. Other chroniclers at Trinity, including Father Collin, would no doubt have a different list—perhaps with my leadership errors highlighted! Fair enough.

To be sure, even avoiding these six mistakes will not guarantee smooth sailing through every church crisis. But in the case of Trinity, they could have gone a long way toward helping a dynamic, thriving parish stay afloat after hitting the biggest iceberg in its history.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.

When the Hebrews left Egypt to begin their difficult journey through the desert to the Promised Land, they brought “the rabble” with them. These were not true believers in this journey or in the God who called them to it. The rabble’s toleration for discomfort was low and their capacity for complaint was high, always an unfortunate combination.

All the pastors I know would love to get rid of the rabble in their church. The dopey thing is that the rabble keep threatening to leave if we don’t service their needs. “If you don’t get a better youth pastor in here, we’ll just go to another church.” Why do they think that’s threatening? “So go,” I want to say. But the rabble never leave.

There is a holy purpose for the rabble. Their complaining places the pastor in the awkward position of standing between the people and the God they cannot see. The grace of that awkwardness is that it forces the pastor to pray, looking for the One who is present but not apparent.

Through most of the wilderness journey, Moses was a model of patient leadership. When the people complained about their thirst, he found water. When they complained about the lack of food, he pointed to manna. When they complained that he was gone too long on Sinai and turned to the idol of a golden calf, Moses interceded and talked God out of consuming them.

Later the people complained about their “misfortunes.” This time God torched a few of them and would have burned up the whole camp if Moses hadn’t interceded again. Immediately afterward the rabble got everyone complaining about how sick and tired they were of manna. They wanted meat!

It was then that Moses finally snapped: “Why have you treated your servant so badly, that you lay the burden of this people on me? Am I their mother? Where am I supposed to find meat for all these people? I am not able to carry this people. If you care about me at all, just kill me and get it over with” (Num. 11:11-15).

It is the repetition of the complaining that tempts the leader to burnout.

Want to know my most vivid memory from the last 23 years of pastoral ministry? Déjà vu.

I’ve had the exact same conversations in three different churches: the youth group eating pizza in the church parlor, no one fills the church van with gas, the struggle to find Sunday school teachers, and the question about special offerings hurting the general budget. Even in pastoral counseling the same conversations just keep happening. After the fiftieth time hearing how mean someone’s parents were, I want to say, “Why are you stuck here? Why am I stuck here?”

When you’re in leadership it is tempting to think your job is to get the people to the Promised Land. But that’s actually God’s job. Your job is to bear their burdens while they’re in the wilderness. We prefer just the opposite. Let God love the people and we’ll just move them along.

But pastors are called to serve as wilderness guides, wandering through the ordinary with their people, loving them enough to point to the manna that keeps them spiritually alive even when it is unappreciated. We have to choose to keep embracing this high calling.

The most dangerous rabble are not the complaining people around us, but the rabble that live within the leader’s heart. This is why I have never understood the advice that says, “Just trust your heart.” If your heart is like mine, most days there’s a bad committee meeting going on in there. So you have to make choices about which inner voice you’re going to honor, or the rabble of anxiety will overwhelm you.

Here’s the scary part: God will honor your choices. As Moses eventually discovered, if you get fed up with wandering around and keep asking God to get these people to the Promised Land without you, you’ll get your wish. Moses wasn’t with them when they finally crossed the Jordan. And it didn’t make him as happy as he thought it would.

Editor at large Craig Barnes is pastor of Shadyside Presbyterian Church and professor of leadership and ministry at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.

I love artists. I always have. I cannot imagine a world without the beauty, perspective, and sheer joy artists bring. I use the term artists for those who create videos, design the stage, dance, write, sing, paint, play an instrument, mix the sound, and contribute overall ideas. They’re all artists.

Those who provide leadership to arts ministries have two primary goals: to lead artists in creating meaningful moments in church and to lead artists to become more like Jesus. This two-fold goal is a huge challenge. After three decades in arts ministry, I know two things for sure: artists are not easy to lead; and artists desperately need leadership.

My husband serves as a volunteer leader in two ministry areas generally filled with left-brained, thinker-type people. He often accomplishes kingdom work by going to meetings, making decisions, and then following through with a list of tasks. This always strikes me as rather simple and uncomplicated compared with the group of people I get to lead. Artists have great strengths—and extremely complicated weaknesses. It’s part of how God created them. They feel things deeply and therefore can craft moments that tap into what others feel but can’t seem to express. Yet this very strength—feeling things deeply—can drive artists to self-doubt, perfectionism, and fear of failure.

Single-mindedly devoted to their craft, artists can slip into self-absorption and lose sight of the big picture. It’s rare to have a simple conversation with artists or a simple decision about approach and ministry. Artists often see the world in shades of gray rather than black and white, and they resist quick or simplistic conclusions.

I experienced this recently when we met with our pastors to discuss a drama script for Good Friday. The writer and drama directors fought for the artistic integrity of the piece. Pastors sought to protect the audience from ambiguity, while the artists defended subtlety. What a delicate dance! If those who lead artists attempt to be authoritative, handing down edicts and expecting the team to just do it, turmoil and trouble result.

Do-oversWhen I think back over my journey as a leader of artists, I celebrate some parts and deeply regret others. My short list of regrets includes four key areas where I’d love the chance for a do-over.

1. Keep the vision clear. Even the most devoted volunteer artists can grow fuzzy about why we are doing this. We require consistent reinforcement of our vision and core values.

Warren Bennis has written numerous books on leadership. My favorite is Organizing Genius, because it focuses on critical ingredients for leading creative teams—what Bennis calls “Great Groups.” After extensive study of successful organizations, Bennis concluded, “The talented people who make up Great Groups are not easily led. Often the leader’s role is simply to keep them pointed in the right direction.” It is essential for leaders of artists to err on the side of over-communicating the purpose for serving and the church mission rather than assuming everyone just gets it and will always get it.

Artists are not easy to lead, but they desperately need leadership.

Keeping the vision clear becomes exceedingly difficult as volunteer teams grow. Newer team members require orientation to arts ministry expectations, strategy, and values. Veteran servants also need frequent reminders, because, as our pastor often says, “vision leaks.”

With so many rehearsals and services, how do we make time to communicate our foundation?

Our team has experimented with many strategies to keep vision clear; we gather arts ministry volunteers a few times each year. We highlight core values and inspire our teams by showing them examples of changed lives.

In a recent team meeting, I invited a drummer new to our music ministry to tell his story. Wes’s description of coming to Willow Creek—feeling blown away by the music, and seeing a drum set on stage just like his at home—was a great inspiration to our team. Wes told us he couldn’t get over the quality and style of music he was hearing at a church. Over time, Wes investigated Christianity and volunteered to serve. Eventually he gave his life to Christ. After hearing this, our volunteers jumped to their feet in applause. Wes vividly reminded us why we serve.

We expect our team leaders to consistently reinforce both the church vision and our team values through individual conversations and prayer times in smaller rehearsal settings.

2. Lead “up” effectively. Artists in every church need a bridge to those who make the major decisions—including the pastor and leadership bodies with influence over the artists. Leading up involves advocating for what artists need to flourish and clearly communicating to artists and leaders. For example, very few church boards comprehend why the arts ministry needs certain equipment—and certainly won’t believe what some of this equipment costs.

Too often I became so absorbed in leading the artists that I neglected to provide the right leaders with vital information about the arts ministry. Artists also need a fuller picture of all the departments competing for limited church resources. Otherwise they develop tunnel vision and ignore other significant ministry areas.

Doug Veenstra has greatly enhanced my leadership horsepower. We co-led our arts ministry until Doug and his family relocated. As partners, Doug and I focused on what we do best. I concentrated on overall creative direction for services and events; Doug developed and led our people day to day.

I wasn’t aware how poorly I led up until I watched Doug do it so masterfully. He carefully built relationships with a few members of our church board and the elders and also communicated frequently with key leaders in other departments.

Doug painted a picture of our team’s challenges, limited resources, and need to keep the stress in check. Somehow he maintained a positive can-do attitude, making sure the other leaders knew our fervent desire to serve God with our gifts as fully as possible. During the budget process, Doug championed our ministry needs while keeping the overall church vision and other priorities in mind.

He was never abrasive or demanding. Doug truly listened to others and then communicated in a clear and compelling way.

I’ll always be looking for someone like that.

3. Be realistic about creative output. I’d love a do-over for how I have led the pacing of our key artists’ creative output. To put it bluntly, I have not protected them enough from our excessive pace and potential burnout.

Church artists are given both the blessing and the curse of frequent deadlines—every seven days! I have always had enough smarts to know artists are not machines, and there is a limit to how much they can produce with innovation, joy, and health. But discerning exactly where that limit is keeps me learning the hard way.

When I first accepted a leadership role in the arts ministry, we had only one drama writer—a very gifted guy named Judson Poling. Jud was expected to create a new, eight-minute drama sketch every weekend, for about fifty Sundays a year. Even as a novice leader, I knew that was ridiculous. Others wondered why Jud’s scripts didn’t hit a home run every week.

This was not about Jud being a slacker or not caring about our services—his creativity had limits, and he simply was not given adequate breaks to get re-fueled. Once we adjusted Jud’s workload and developed a few other writers, he soared as a creative contributor and has continued to craft powerful drama scripts for nearly 25 years.

As an artist at Hallmark Cards, Gordon MacKenzie sought to preserve and protect his own creative spirit. Orbiting the Giant Hairball, one of my all-time favorite books, beautifully describes Gordon’s journey.

Gordon illustrates the tension between management and artists when it comes to production pace. He asks the reader to imagine a serene pasture where a dairy cow is quietly eating grass, chewing her cud, and swishing her tail.

Outside the fence stands “a rotund gentleman in a $700, powder-blue, pinstripe suit.” This gentleman is livid that the cow is not working hard. He doesn’t understand that whatever milk the cow produces when placed on the milking machine is directly related to the time the cow spends out in the field—”seemingly idle, but, in fact, performing the alchemy of transforming grass into milk.”

Gordon skillfully compares the rotund gentleman to management leaders all over the country who have no patience for the “quiet time essential to profound creativity.”

Too many church leaders don’t understand that the artists who create services need quiet fueling to do their best work. If we try to hook them up to a constant milking machine fifty weeks a year, we will suffocate their best ideas, possibly damage their souls, and most likely lose them for long-term ministry.

Every artist is unique, with a different capacity for creative output.

The key to leading them effectively is to understand their rhythms and provide a pace that allows them to stop their relentless output and restore themselves.

At Willow Creek, we’ve addressed this by recruiting more team members to free up artists for certain periods of time. I urge church leaders to be realistic about how much your treasured artists can produce before they start to die inside.

4. Confront character issues immediately. My fourth do-over as a leader of artists stems from a lifelong weakness—the desire to avoid conflict. I have sometimes waited too long to address character issues in our artists’ lives.

Melanie was a gifted and beloved vocalist on our team. From my involvement with her in a small group, I learned that her marriage was troubled and she was in counseling.

I was concerned about the many hours she was at rehearsal, away from her husband and children, but I didn’t think it was anything more than a friendship when Melanie began spending time with one of our instrumentalists. (You know where this is going.) In the end, two marriages were lost.

The story might have played out much differently if I had paid closer attention to my instincts and had the courage to ask questions and speak truth. Sometimes I think that surely the individual is aware of his or her behavior, or that it’s not my place to hold the person accountable, or even that others must be dealing with the matter.

The good news is after five years’ absence, Melanie was fully restored in her faith and her music ministry. One of our most significant memories as a church took place the night Melanie stood before us and told her story. She asked for our forgiveness, the elders prayed for her, and then we heard Melanie’s beautiful voice once again sing a song of surrender to Jesus.

I still remember the thunderous applause of our congregation, a signal of grace extended. What a glorious kingdom victory!

The evening became a teaching opportunity for all of us to confess our sins and escapist desires early on, before we make tragic choices we will regret. We also recommitted ourselves to live in accountable relationships, invite one another to boldly ask how we are really doing, and recognize that all of us will face temptation.

Leaders, don’t even look the other way when a fellow team member might need you most. Under the Holy Spirit’s guidance, discern when it is necessary to lovingly inquire about a pattern you have seen. This includes times when you observe hints of pride, jealousy, a critical spirit, bitterness, laziness, loose talk, or any other behaviors that do not reflect the character of Jesus Christ. Voices in your head will tell you that it’s none of your business and that, most likely, everything is really okay.

It’s scary to engage in these difficult conversations—but our team members’ lives and churches’ spiritual vitality are at stake.

Leading with loveA few years ago, our core leadership team was given the gift of a weekend together in New York City. We refueled ourselves with Broadway shows, and we reconnected with one another as we laughed and shared our lives on long city walks. On the final afternoon, I gave each person a stack of New York postcards. We took time to thoughtfully write a brief message of affirmation to the other team members, one per card. We sat in a small city park on cold gray benches among the pigeons, reading aloud what we had written for one another, and then giving the cards as a gift to take home. I still have my set.

Bruce Smith, a key leader on our team, oversees our technical production and is the driving force behind countless creative endeavors. On my postcard, Bruce wrote, “I have always wanted to be led by a loving leader. Thank you for leading me with love.” There are no words he could have written that would have meant more to me.

When all is said and done, artists simply long to be led with love. They want to know that someone attempts to understand how they are wired, what they need to soar, and how hard it can be for them to keep doing creative work.

Those of us who lead artists should begin by asking ourselves if we truly love them. Whenever we begin to show signs of resenting artists or wishing they could just fly straight and get with the program, we must ask our heavenly Creator to refresh and renew our genuine love for these treasured people. He will enable us to see them as he sees them and to love them with growing depth and joy.

Nancy Beach is a teaching pastor at Willow Creek Community Church in South Barrington, Illinois. Reprinted by permission from An Hour On Sunday by Nancy Beach (Zondervan, 2004).

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.

The scene was surreal. In the middle of a busy rush at Starbucks, one of my fellow baristas discovered that my “real job” was working at a church down the street. Acting as if she had never come in contact with a live pastor before, she began squealing with delight, telling every customer and employee of her discovery.

This revelation caused a spontaneous spiritual combustion at the store, and I listened as a group of people circled around the espresso bar and regaled me with stories of their spiritual history.

Selma went first: “I think Christianity has an important place in society. I don’t personally follow it, but I figure, whatever makes you happy, do it.”

Matt quickly followed, revealing the painful interactions he had experienced: “Christianity is for simple-minded people. When they talk to you, they act as if you are a robot. They have an agenda to promote, and if you don’t agree with them, they’re done with you.”

Tatia thought about Matt’s comments for a moment, and then added her own. “I don’t know if that’s what bothers me so much. What really gets under my skin is that all the church really wants from you is your money.”

Justin put the finishing touches on the conversation, and seemed to summarize everyone’s feelings when he said: “Look, we all know that ‘God’ is out there at some level, but no one has a right to tell another person what ‘God’ looks like for them. Each person is free to express that however they want, but they should keep their opinions to themselves.”

Such was my baptism by fire into the emerging culture. In that moment I realized most of the training I had received in “evangelism” didn’t fit my Starbucks friends. The biggest barrier wasn’t their lack of information; it was their attitude. They were biased against Christianity. How could I engage these people in a way that bridged the gap between their current spiritual condition and a vibrant relationship with Jesus Christ?

They consider Christians preachy or legalistic or untrustworthy. The slow trust-rebuilding process is the only way to engage a Post-Christian.

This encounter happened in the late 1990s while I was working at Willow Creek in Axis (the ministry for 20-somethings). Willow had been on the front lines of evangelism since its inception in the 1970s, but as the church aged, we began to notice a trend: the attitudes of the not-yet-Christians in the emerging generation were changing. Amid increasing interest in spirituality, fewer and fewer 20-somethings were translating that spiritual interest into church attendance.

Axis was born in 1996 to wrestle with the question: “What does it take to effectively engage the emerging generation with the message and life of Jesus?”

I was privileged to work with Axis for five years. To speed up my learning, I also took a part-time job at Starbucks. Since I had grown up as a pastor’s kid, I thought I understood evangelism. But my three years at Starbucks taught me that simple formulas and canned presentations were woefully incomplete if we were to connect with this generation.

So Selma, Tatia, Matt, Justin, and others at Starbucks became my new instructors on evangelism. I began to re-think the whole process of engaging the emerging culture for Christ. This journey has since led me to leave Willow Creek and plant River City, a new church in inner-city Chicago. Here we continue to experiment with ways to introduce this generation to Jesus.

Pre- and Post-ChristiansPeople are way too complex to put into boxes, but it helps to describe two very different spiritual portraits, and then ask which portrait best describes your friends who don’t yet know Christ.

First, “Pre-Christians.” These are individuals who at some level are open to the idea of Christianity and, given the right circ*mstances, could see themselves embracing it. Maybe this is a man who grew up in a Catholic home but had never grasped the message of grace. Maybe this is a woman who grew up in a church youth group, lived the crazy party scene in college, and after graduation begins looking again for spiritual roots. Maybe this is a person who had no church experience, or at least no negative impressions.

There are a variety of hues in the Pre-Christian portrait, but the common element is a relative openness to the gospel that, with the right approach, could be cultivated.

Second, “Post-Christians.” These are people who have seen Christianity somewhere along the way and have decided they are not interested. For example, a young man who grew up in a Christian home and was disillusioned by his parents’ messy divorce. Or someone who had attended church but witnessed something as painful as a nasty split or as subtle (yet subversive) as hypocritical Christians who said one thing and did another.

Other Post-Christians have no church experience at all, but their experiences with Christians, even if only through the media, have been negative—they consider Christians preachy or legalistic or untrustworthy.

Sometimes it’s as simple as negative interaction with the idea of Christianity; after seeing public scandals and watching a diminishing reputation, they decided they didn’t want to be associated with it.

The common element is that they, rightly or wrongly, feel like they already understand Christianity and are not interested.

After explaining these two categories, we ask people at our church to identify which portrait more aptly describes their friends who are not Christians. About 25 percent will say their friends are Pre-Christian. Yes, there are plenty of Pre-Christians out there, and they matter to Christ as much as anyone.

But 75 percent indicate their friends are Post-Christian, with a huge trust crater that needs to be overcome in the journey toward Christ. The 75 percent seem almost relieved to have a lens by which to understand their friends. They are grateful to discover that the slow trust-rebuilding process is no reflection of their doing something wrong, but is actually the only way to engage a Post-Christian.

These differences require distinct approaches. Pre-Christians tend to be open to the idea of going to church if it is relevant and they can meet other people their age. The absence of Christ in their lives is not usually out of anger at God or broken trust with Christians. God just hasn’t been a priority so far.

Post-Christians, on the other hand, have a decided bias against organized religion. A well-meaning River City person might say, “Hey, I’d love to invite you to my church this weekend to hear a great message and meet other cool Christians. It’s a very powerful service and very relevant to our lives.” The Post-Christian would just shrug and say, “That’s cool that you’ve found something that works for you. I’m not into Christianity though.”

How are we to reach this person?

“Awake and Invite”For friends who are Post-Christian (we emphasize this group not because they are more important, but because traditional methods of evangelism have missed them), we suggest an approach we call “Awake and Invite.” It parallels the vivid imagery Jesus used to describe contagious evangelists: salt and light.

Salt is a powerful metaphor, because it is all about proximity and time. For salt to cure something, it needs to be right up against the surface, and it takes time to have its desired affect.

We often teach the truth from Ecclesiastes that “eternity is in the heart of every man and woman.” For that eternal center to be awakened and connected to the truth of Jesus, however, someone has to be salt in that friend’s life. Through skilled question asking, the witness of a transformed life, powerful love, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit, every Christian has the ability to be a powerful salt-carrier that helps each of his or her friends awaken to spiritual realities.

Light, on the other hand, is that force that breaks through the darkness and calls people to itself. Light is an environment you invite your friends to in the hope that something will happen to open their soul to a spiritual moment where God can meet them in a powerful way.

This is our philosophical framework. We need both contagious Christians and creative environments to make up our church’s “Awake and Invite” opportunities. Here are some of those opportunities:

Serving/Social Justice. It’s interesting that Jesus never once called someone to become a Christian. He simply laid out a powerful two-word invitation: “Follow Me.” This is important to remember, because if our Post-Christian friend declines an invitation to church, this isn’t the end of the road in our spiritual friendship. There are lots of ways to invite someone to experience Jesus besides attending a church service.

One of the most powerful of these opportunities is when we invite friends to discover God’s heart for the poor, disadvantaged, and oppressed. These experiences are often reserved for the already-convinced in church life, but we emphasize that many times a Post-Christian’s problem is with church, not with the activities of a Jesus-follower.

This kind of thinking shapes almost everything we do. For instance, in April 2004 we put all of our collective energies into an event hosting Princess Kasune Zulu, an international spokeswoman for the hiv/aids crisis.

Princess lost both of her parents to aids, and then contracted hiv from her husband before losing him as well. Instead of getting knocked out by this, she made it her life mission to let people know about Jesus, and to raise awareness around the world of the aids pandemic.

An event like this would normally galvanize Christians to respond in mercy to this crisis, but it would often be overlooked for its evangelistic potential.

We made this event a rallying point for all of our Post-Christian friends. Not only did we invite them in force, we even invited our Post-Christian friends to the pre-event training with World Vision (the sponsoring organization for Princess). We gathered as believers and not-yet-believers to learn how the child sponsorship program worked in Zambia.

We estimate that at least 20 percent of the 500 participating in the Princess Zulu event were not Christians, but they all accepted badges designating them as River City/World Vision Ambassadors.

It was an important point of contact, a common cause, and a trust-building experience.

We also do monthly serving projects through River City ranging from neighborhood street cleaning to hanging out with the elderly, and we urge our people to use these as opportunities to awaken their Post-Christian friends to the civic responsibilities of “spirituality” and to invite them into an environment where they will interact with Jesus followers (and, we hope, to have an encounter with Jesus himself).

The Spoken Word. I quickly learned that many approaches we’d used in a suburban environment didn’t cross over to the urban context. We had to start over. As we looked for things that were already attracting the emerging generation and carried some sort of spiritual element, we discovered a movement that was particularly successful in the hip-hop community: the Spoken Word (also called Soul Poetry Café).

This is a place where creative minds gather to artistically express everyday realities like politics, relationships, and spirituality through the spoken medium. Anything goes at a Spoken Word café, and attendees are ready to hear artists’ opinions on everything from current policy to spiritual convictions.

After attending several of these, we felt that doing our own Spoken Word was a great way to reach Post-Christian friends. Our worship pastor began actively recruiting artists and mainline acts from other events. He then used those commitments to publicize our event. Spoken Word now happens on the fourth Friday of every month. We bring together anywhere from 50-80 people from our community, most of them strongly Post-Christian.

Trans-ethnic Community. This one is more of a “feel” than an activity, but we are strongly committed to a multi-ethnic effort to reach lost friends. Simple logic now dictates that if we are going to reach the full spectrum of our Post-Christian friends, we need a ministry that can reach people from a variety of backgrounds.

Chicago is one of the most diverse, yet segregated, cities in the country. This means that despite the fact you live among myriad nationalities, chances are low that you will ever share life with them in a meaningful way.

At River City we’ve seen that you can produce all kinds of programs to reach people, but if the ministry is not bathed in love, it will be as the apostle Paul said, “a clanging cymbal.” We also are committed to the prayer of Jesus in John 17 that His body would be “One” as the Trinity is One, so that the watching world may know of the power of Christ.

Many of our Post-Christian friends have commented that this racial reconciliation is what drew them to River City well before the desire to be a part of any kind of organized church.

Sunday Services. Emphasizing the need to be “salt” to our Post-Christian friends does not downplay the role of the Sunday services. The truth is, if the outside-the-church stuff is working, the Post-Christians, at some point, will reconsider the idea of Christianity. When that happens, it is crucial that they experience God when they visit the church.

Here we’ve learned from one of the greatest “worship” leaders of our generation: Bono. In an interview in the early days of U2, he was asked what made their band unique from all of the others.

“Our goal,” he said, “is to blur the line between the stage and the audience. We want to create a shared experience for everyone there.”

That’s our desire for those who visit River City. We hope that through engaging worship, authentic teaching, and a primal sense of the presence of God in our community, they will have a shared spiritual experience.

They may not be able to put it into words, but we hope the service touches their spiritual center in a way that draws them back again.

Daniel Hill is pastor of River City Community Church in Chicago, Illinois.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.

Consider some of the metaphors and statements of Jesus, and it becomes obvious that Jesus was not above introducing a comic element to make a point. Speaker and comedian Ken Davis gives the example “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle,” a picture so outrageous it was funny, and yet the subject of salvation could not be more serious.

Elton Trueblood was inspired to write the book, The Humor of Christ, when reading Jesus’ words about specks and logs in people’s eyes made his four-year-old laugh.

The benefits of humor are many; from overcoming defenses and encouraging community, to showing our humanity and drawing attention to the truth. It is in the flash of humor that truth can sometimes be most clearly seen. That was my purpose in using this Paul Harvey story:

The Butterball company set up a Thanksgiving hotline to answer questions about cooking turkeys. One woman asked if she could use a turkey that had been in the bottom of her freezer for … 23 years. The Butterball expert—how’s that for a job title—told her it would probably be safe if the freezer had been below zero the entire time. But the expert warned her that even if the turkey was safe to eat, the flavor would likely have deteriorated and wouldn’t be worth eating. The woman said, “That’s what I thought. We’ll give the turkey to our church.”

After the laughter subsided, I said, “Sin first shows itself in what you give God.”

Here are a few characteristics of effective humor:

1. Have a purpose.

Pastor John Ortberg believes that since “the ultimate goal of preaching is to have Christ formed in people” humor must always be the servant of the message. If humor does nothing to forward that purpose, then the preacher should jettison it from the sermon.

2. Observe daily life.

Humor flowing from life experiences always trumps jokes with punch lines. Jokes are what Davis calls high-risk humor. If a joke dies, everyone knows it, and the point may die with it. When a personal story doesn’t elicit the laugh you thought it would, it still maintains the power to illustrate the point. That’s why Davis calls this low-risk humor and suggests this is where someone trying to learn to be more humorous should begin. So avoid joke books and pay more attention to what is going on around you.

3. Keep the surprise.

Saying “Let me tell you something funny” is disastrous. It’s harder to surprise people. For some, an automatic resistance kicks in. They cross their arms and think, I’ll be the judge of that.

4. Credit sources.

Nothing dampens the effectiveness of humor more surely or our credibility more quickly than presenting someone else’s humor or someone else’s experience as our own.

John Beukema excerpted from Preachingtoday.com

Top 25 Worship Songs

These are the songs most used by churches reporting to Christian Copyright Licensing Inc., for the six-month period ending March 30, 2004.

1. Here I Am to Worship*
2. Open the Eyes of My Heart
3. Lord, I Lift Your Name on High
4. Shout to the Lord
5. Come, Now is the Time to Worship
6. You Are My King*
7. God of Wonders*
8. Breathe
9. The Heart of Worship*
10. Forever*
11. Above All*
12. You Are My All in All
13. Trading My Sorrows*
14. We Fall Down*
15. I Could Sing of Your Love Forever
16. You’re Worthy of My Praise
17. Draw Me Close
18. Give Thanks
19. Lord, Reign in Me
20. Better Is One Day*
21. Shine, Jesus, Shine
22. As the Deer
23. I Give You My Heart
24. Change My Heart, O God
25. Awesome God

* Our version of Billboard‘s bullet, this song is moving up the chart.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.

Somewhere over the Midwest I asked Ryan in seat 7A what his ideal church would be like. The 26-year-old nominal Catholic with a degree in food science and interest in “spirituality” provided an increasingly common answer: “I don’t understand the rock concert-style churches. I like the practical Bible teaching, but I always find myself wanting to go to Mass instead. Ideally I’d like the liturgy with practical Bible teaching.”

Ryan’s answer hints at the shifts in the worship preferences of many; not just the younger generation’s interest in liturgy, but the general blurring of lines between worship traditions and the theological schools from which they emerged. Today you can find a praise band at St. Mark the Apostle, a Friday night Taize service at First Baptist, and the holy Eucharist adored at Something Creek Community Church.

In this shifting landscape, Exploring the Worship Spectrum proves a valuable roadmap. The contributors intelligently speak to the history, theology, and benefit of six different worship formats, and respond to one another with a level of respect all too rare in most “worship wars.”

Paul Zahl presents the case for formal-liturgical worship that is vertical before it is horizontal— seeking the transcendent holiness of God in a time-tested tradition. The blessing of traditional (hymn-based) worship is presented by Harold Best, the most eloquent, and musically proficient, apologist of the group. Willow Creek’s Joe Horness argues for the contextualized benefit of contemporary worship with humility about its limitations and tempting abuses.

Exploring the Worship Spectrum: 6 Viewsby Paul Zahl, Harold Best, Joe Horness, Don Williams, Robert Webber, Sally Morgenthaler(Zondervan, 2004)256 pages; $11.89

Don Williams’s discussion of charismatic worship traces its history from the Jesus Movement to Third Wave. Robert Webber tackles blended worship, redefining it not as choruses and hymns, but as a fourfold structure of gathering, the Word, the table, and sending forth. Finally, Sally Morgenthaler advocates an emerging worship that explores art, culture, and unorthodox forms with the new freedoms afforded the church in a postmodern world.

All six authors are theologically grounded, articulate communicators. At times, however, I found myself frustrated by a discussion that failed to connect. Those from “higher” worship traditions (Zahl, Best, and Webber) and those from “lower” traditions (Horness, Williams, and Morgenthaler) often seem to talk past one another.

The contemporary, emerging, and charismatic worship proponents speak passionately for worship contextualized to a community’s culture. Worship is the heart’s response to God, and we should be free to express that praise in familiar cultural forms that most engage the heart. The liturgical, traditional, and blended worship advocates agree that worship is a response to God, but also see corporate worship as a powerfully formative experience in which God shapes his people. They argue for worship elements that transcend culture and shape us in the stories, symbols, and rich doctrines of the gospel. Because of these different starting points, the book sometimes feels like monologues on worship rather than dialogues between traditions.

This gripe aside, the real benefit of Exploring the Worship Spectrum is not intellectual or cultural arguments, but the overall tone of Christian unity. The work celebrates the diversity of Christ’s church and the rich contribution each worship tradition makes. The book is a wonderful primer on the theology of worship, and ought to be read by every worship leader regardless of tradition. Grounded in biblical theology, with a healthy respect for other perspectives, the book may even assist churches and leaders experiencing tension over worship issues.

This book is a needed resource at a time when, as Harold Best said, “That which should unite our practices—namely, truth—takes second place to what so often divides us— namely music.”

Skye Jethani, Wheaton, Illinois

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.

With the current political climate one of the most divisive ever, the challenges for a pastor are immense. Do you try to minimize the heat being generated? Or go along with the leanings of the congregation for the sake of peace? Or preach the always-countercultural kingdom aspects of the gospel? Or what? Perhaps the best perspective comes from observing a pastor navigating the dangers in a slightly different political climate. Editor at large Gordon MacDonald tells his story in this Leadership Classic.

In 1966 my young family and I moved into a southern Illinois town where I became pastor of one of those ubiquitous First Baptist Churches you see everywhere. It was a time of serious racial tension in America, and that tension was palpable in our new neighborhood.

There was only one African-American church in our community, and its pastor and I cultivated a friendship.

One hot summer evening in our community, a number of African-American young people reacted angrily to some racial slurs made by whites on Main Street. Store windows were broken, cars were "keyed," and police authority was defied. Within hours the town polarized along racial lines.

I called my friend and proposed conversation. Would he, I asked, consider gathering a group of those who'd been involved in the meleé and bring them to our home? He would, he said, and he did. Perhaps if I'd been wiser, I'd have gone to his home. But the word I'd heard was that a white guy would not be warmly welcomed on his street at the moment.

A day later two dozen young men and women came to our home for a long discussion in which I tried to listen, ask questions, and respond with an idea or two. The meeting set up a rapprochement with the police and the beginning of dialogue, which helped the community face its problems. I assumed everyone (especially my congregation) would be thrilled.

A week later, at a church leadership meeting, one of our deacons arrived carrying a tape recorder. He had taped a message, he said, because he was so angry that he could not trust himself to speak spontaneously. This certainly caught my attention.

"How you respond," he said, "will determine whether or not I stay on this board and in this church."

We listened.

I learned not to talk of my visits to the Clinton White House, not even to hint that something good might be happening. It seemed as if people did not want to believe that was possible.

The pastor (that was me), the taped voice said, had betrayed the responsibilities of ministry by engaging in "social gospel" activity. It was the deacon's opinion that I had no business conferring with the African-American leadership in our community, and that if I did not renounce what I had done, write a letter of apology to the town newspaper, and promise that I would never again do such things, he would resign the board and, perhaps, leave the church.

As I listened I began to visualize the loss of my pastoral mandate. It was a scary moment. I am not by nature an activist, nor do I have the makings of a prophet, but I was convinced that I had acted in obedience to the scriptural mandate: to be a seeker of reconciliation.

When the tape ended, the chairman—a remarkable man—looked the deacon straight in the eye and, calling him by name, said, "We're very sorry to lose you from this board." And then he turned to the rest of us and said, "Let's turn to tonight's agenda." The now ex-deacon packed up his recorder and left the room.

Should I rock the vote?

I grew up in traditional fundamentalism. "This world is not my home, I'm just a-passing through" could easily have been our defining hymn. The faith community of my boyhood was relatively disinterested in any public issues except those that had something to do with family or matters of private morality. Everything else was "of the world." Result? I was quite naïve about how to sort out the kind of public issues with which a pastor should identify.

Figuring all of that out began during my seminary days. On weekends I pastored a tiny, rural church in northwestern Kansas. As I was preaching my first sermons Lyndon Johnson was running against Barry Goldwater for the Presidency. I determined to break from my Republican roots and associate with the Democrats. I pasted a Johnson sticker on the back of my Volkswagen. I did this in a Kansas county that would eventually vote overwhelmingly for Goldwater! Was I brave or stupid?

My father (full disclosure: he was a Goldwater man), always candid, saw my Johnson sticker and said, "Are you prepared to take a political position that will cause some people to stop listening to you when you preach the gospel?"

Now there was a show-stopper of a question, and not a bad one. It challenged me to rise to a new level of consciousness in determining when I should go to the wall for an issue and when it might be prudent to avoid the wall. In truth, I had not moved to Cheyenne County in Kansas to stump for Lyndon Johnson; I was there, presumably, to represent the interests of Jesus.

In that case I removed the sticker. My political preferences would not be a deal-breaker when it came to engaging people in my congregation. And the moment birthed a new insight: In matters political, I needed to discern the difference between a preference and a conviction.

In both of these cases, I was free to assert my rights. But while I asserted that right in the first story because of conviction, I chose not to in the second because it involved preference.

As the years passed, I came to see that the practicalities of a Christ-following faith almost always have political, social, and economic implications. But when and how to use my pulpit privileges or the influence of my pastoral position to bring attention to these issues was a serious challenge. I did not enjoy the job security of a tenured professor, and, to be frank, I did not possess the bravado of a zealot. By nature I wanted to get along, to be a priestly presence for people, to build a strong church.

So when should I take the plunge and declare myself or act upon controversial issues and when should I stay away? The answers that came to me over time are what I call soft answers … or judgment calls.

Principles I (now) live by

Most importantly, I learned to seek a convergence of impressions from biblical reflection, historical precedent (as I gained insight from my hand-picked heroes of faith), vigorous prayer, and the wisdom of a few close confidants. If one of these was out of alignment with the others, it was a wake-up call that I might be on my way to making a fool of myself.

It became important to ask, Who am I, and what have I been called to do? By nature I am not an adversarial person; I am not politically minded, and I do not function well in the world of debate. I was (still am) called to be a pastor—a spiritual father—who functions best when he asks tough questions and challenges people to listen for God's voice and its potential to direct them into action. There are some in my world—even good friends of mine—who are naturals at entering the fray of the public political arena. But that seems to be both their strength and their prophetic call. It's not mine.

A second thought that developed was to make sure I was aware of the priority themes of the Bible and their practical or political implications. One might be tempted to say, "Well, duh!" except for the fact that many of us come from traditions that have manufactured great conviction out of just two or three lines of Scripture while ignoring other possible convictions based on scores and scores of scriptural lines.

This meant that issues like compassion for the weak and the poor and justice for the powerless became more than matters of conscience to me. It meant that I could not take the doctrine of creation seriously without recognizing the concomitant issue of the proper care of the earth. Can one seriously claim to follow a crucified and stripped Savior and not have conviction about the irresponsible uses of wealth? I saw such things oozing from all sections of the Bible.

A third principle that became important to me was to become a listener. It's a discipline: to patiently hear what someone else has to say and reserve judgment until they have fully spoken their piece. I'm amazed at what I have learned and how often I have been humbled when I follow this principle. This is the beginning of genuine Christian discourse, something not well developed in my background.

Fourth: I determined to stay as free as I possibly could from ideological entrapment. There are worthy ideas and solutions that come from the minds of good people who populate both the conservative and liberal constituencies. The God of the Bible is neither Republican nor Democrat; the biblical framework cannot be reduced to the agenda of either the right or the left.

Fifth: I determined to renounce the temptation to bash those with whom I do not agree. It is one thing to poke and prod at an idea, another to attack the person who bears the idea. Too often I have failed here.

The arrogance and smugness of too many Christian spokespersons has cost us greatly. We will pay a price for years to come for their mean-spirited and intemperate remarks. Bible-believing Christians are not usually characterized by the larger world as compassionate, gracious, and thoughtful. Rather, we are typed as angry, win-at-all-costs, insensitive people. How can our higher message—that Jesus is mighty to save—be taken seriously if we are perceived in this way? This is worth weeping for.

It was helpful for me to carefully select three (just three!) issues with which I would identify over a long period of time. The three for me were famine-related issues in Africa, racial reconciliation, and environmental matters.

As a leader, it is all too easy to get involved in myriad issues, to become a "lobbyist" for every decent cause. But I could not afford to be pulled away from my core sense of call: to shepherd a flock of souls and to help them follow Jesus. Obviously, I would—from time to time—illustrate issues of discipleship in terms of their political implications, but extensive, time-consuming, passion-draining involvement in non-pastoral matters was probably for other people, not for a pastor.

That didn't mean I would not occasionally point out political and social applications of the gospel. I had to steel myself against the possibility of losing an occasional friend or church member. In my world I found that I was something of a hero if I spoke against abortion and for the sanctity of life. But I lost my heroic status if I dared to extend the principle of life-sanctity to the matter of capital punishment, or the fact that 27,000 children die every day in our world due to diseases that are treatable.

A sermon that protests gay marriage would be welcomed, I learned. But a sermon that reminds us that, statistically speaking, divorce and spousal abuse is just as flagrant in our congregations as it is in the secular community, is shrugged off.

Perhaps my greatest disappointment with the tradition I consider my "home" is that it wasn't and still isn't a safe place to ask questions, explore alternatives, launch creative ideas of a political or social orientation. It is often overrun by a mindset that puts people in a box after just a few words are said that don't sound safe and familiar.

It has been said that the role of a prophet is never to compliment government but rather to critique it in the name of the living God. The traditional Quaker phrase—"truth speaking to power"—applies here. But how shall we know what to say to political and economic power, if we cannot convey thoughts to each other in respectful dialogue instead of battering each other with labels, disassociation, and slander?

Learning from Lewinsky

The most challenging issue with political ramifications I ever faced came when, in 1999, President Clinton asked Tony Campolo, Philip Wogaman, and me to form an accountability team around him when his relationship with Monica Lewinsky became public.

I remember exactly where I was when the President phoned and asked if we could talk. A day or two later I sat with him for several hours for the first of many conversations, which were always candid, confrontational, and, I hope, redemptive. Several times during these encounters (which continued until the last week of President Clinton's administration), I remembered the days when all I had to worry about was whether or not to "wear" a bumper sticker on my car.

When the press revealed the accountability team's existence, there was a firestorm of protest—from people in my tradition—that we would associate with such a man. My inbox became overloaded with thousands of e-mails. I heard an amazing array of reasons—many cast in a most disrespectful way—as to why I should have nothing to do with this man, and I began to grasp what Jesus must have faced the day he visited the home of Zacchaeus. To my knowledge, Zacchaeus hadn't apologized or repented of his presumably scurrilous life as a tax collector, but Jesus sat with him anyway.

What I learned was that almost every person who came into my life with an opinion did so out of an ideological perspective. If they had been anti-Clinton before the Lewinsky scandal, they were even more so after it. If they had been pro-Clinton before the scandal, they were defensive for him and encouraging to me. It made little difference to anyone that a person ordained to the pastoral calling has an obligation to hear anyone out who even hints at a repentant attitude (which I think was true in Zacchaeus's case). Our calling is to walk with them until they prove themselves incorrigible.

My own congregation with whom I had years of history was ambivalent about my relationship to the President. Many people (even some members of our pastoral staff) visibly stiffened when the subject of my presidential connection came up. At best support was spotty. So I learned not to talk about my visits to the White House, not even to ask for prayer, in most cases, and not to even hint that I thought something good might be happening as a result. It seemed as if people did not want to believe that was possible.

For all of the talk among so-called Christians about national revival, I shall always wonder if we came as close as we will ever come in my lifetime to revival in those first months of the Clinton scandal. When the subject of repentance and forgiveness was on the lips of almost every American, I fear that much of our Christian world responded with more condemnation and an I-told-you-so smugness.

Choose your moment

As this national election process determines who will occupy the White House for the next four years, I know that many pastors will struggle to know when to speak and when to remain silent about all of the issues that a national election raises. I am one who has found this struggle more difficult than ever. More than once I have been in conversations where a political or ideological position was far more divisive than a discussion over a piece of orthodox Christian doctrine.

Regularly pastors thread their way through the labyrinth of opinions and debate knowing that a misplaced word can sometimes set a pastoral relationship back many months if not permanently.

But every once in a while, a word well-spoken because it is immersed in prayer, clothed in humility, backed with solid thought and the fullness of God's Spirit breaks through and people see something differently.

Result? They go on to make a God-intended difference in their communities. That is one great moment.

Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership Journal and chancellor of Denver Seminary.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.

My wife and I moved from a youth pastorate in Tucson, Arizona, to a senior pastorate on the Canadian prairies just in time for winter. Here the high temperature on Valentine’s Day can reach a romantic 30 below. But the weather wasn’t nearly as chilly as the reception we received at our new church.

One month into our new ministry, “Marlene” called my wife, furious that JoLynn had used the word “intimacy” during a private marriage counseling session. (The fact that Marlene called on behalf of another offended woman should have warned us how bad things were about to become.)

“We don’t talk about those things up here,” Marlene said. “I knew we shouldn’t have hired an American! You’re all the same. I’ve been to California, you know. They do that kind of stuff in the streets!”

Amazing, I thought. I grew up in California. Guess I’ve driven down the wrong streets!

Marlene was only the first. In my inaugural year at Elim Chapel, I was criticized for using the wrong pulpit and sitting in the wrong pew. My preaching was called “shallow,” my wife “ungifted,” and the services “juvenile.” Our worship was described in a letter as “absolute buffoonery, causing one to wonder if the person responsible isn’t experiencing a delayed adolescence, rather than the expected maturity of a church leader.”

Someone even told me to go back to youth ministry, “where you belong.” It started to sound like good advice. Junior highers behaved better than this.

At first, the criticism shook me. Am I a lousy preacher? Am I that bad of a senior pastor?

Two weeks before our annual meeting, a new flurry of letters went to the board and membership alike, a clear campaign to oust the new pastor. But in those two weeks, I made a discovery about our church’s history that would forever change our future. This stream of criticism, slander, and divisiveness had been sounded before. The last pastor left in the midst of it, and the one before him because of it.

The similarity of the attacks, years apart, was chilling. This was entrenched sin.

If something wasn’t done to change our church’s critical spirit, I would soon become the next victim.

History was out to get me On one particularly bleak day before the church-wide meeting, I picked up a two-inch-thick notebook an elder had given me. More letters critical of the pastor, but in these I was not the target. These missals were aimed a previous pastor, Matt. The similarity of the attacks on the two of us, years apart, was chilling.

Earlier I read these charges against me: “One is staggered to consider the negative impact our church’s inferior teaching must have on the spiritually immature. It is a sad indication of the board of elders’ collective blindness when they allow this to continue.” Ouch.

Now I found an old letter saying about Matt, “Our tradition of in-depth Bible exposition is neglected, and we are starving for sound doctrine. Our pastor is inept in handling the Word of God. If you as the board continue to support him as our pastor, then you, too, will be held accountable for the careless handling of the Word in our pulpit.”

Was Matt as inept as I was? I doubt it. Matt taught expository preaching at Dallas Theological Seminary.

They wrote of me, “Who will engender reconciliation when those responsible for the health of the flock are causing the sickness? You are dismembering the body of Christ.”

They wrote of Matt, “The pastor must ultimately assume the responsibility for the disunity in the church. I find it difficult to see how the church can heal as long as Matt is our pastor.”

Oddly, though the criticisms were identical—preaching, unity, qualifications, and worship—the authors of the letters were different. Whatever strain had infected the critics of the past, it had found new hosts in their modern counterparts.

And when I read how these members, past and present, viewed their vicious actions, I knew our problems were getting worse.

In Matt’s day they wrote, “Through conversations we have identified with each other and have chosen to openly present a number of concerns.” And, “Word has gotten back to me that I am guilty of gossip in your eyes. Is anyone who speaks with fellow believers about sincere concerns regarded as a gossip?”

In my batch of letters they wrote, “We have been and will continue to be open about our convictions. While we do not court dissension, we are willing to share our concerns whenever asked. We will also make available a copy of this letter to anyone who wishes to know our position in detail. It is our right to share our concerns with whomever we feel needs to know.”

This was entrenched sin. It was time to confront it.

Airing it out Throughout the first year, the elder board was supportive of me. They hoped I would be able to implement the changes of vision and mission they had begun. And when the attacks came, they stood with me.

One elder even laughed out loud when a disgruntled member said to me, “I know you don’t like to preach. That’s why we keep having all these baptisms!”

Now, however, I needed to count on their support.

I remembered an event from Tucson. Our interim pastor had received letters attacking his family and ministry. With the board’s permission, one of the associate pastors preached for him the following Sunday and read some of the trash that was coming to the board and his family. That day, light drove out the darkness. Sin exposed is ugly, and those on the fence no longer wanted a part in it.

I asked the board for permission to do the same. They instructed me to wait until after the service, rather than making it part of the sermon.

When my sermon ended and we sang the final hymn, I was scared. But I got up and said, “The leadership of Elim Chapel would like to ask for your help. It’s hard to know how much to share as a leader, but if we don’t let you know what’s going on, the grumbling will never stop.

“This year we’ve had more baptisms, decisions for salvation, and new members than any in our records. Isn’t that God’s work? But the more potential we have, the more Satan will try to stop us. Difficult communication has come in to us. Someone wrote, ‘One half of our board is unqualified for ministry.’ I want you to know I’ve been on the board of three churches and none has had men of more integrity than Elim has. 1 Timothy 5:19-20 says, ‘Do not entertain an accusation against an elder unless it is brought by two or three witnesses. Those who sin are to be rebuked publicly, so that the others may take warning.’

“This week a letter came into the office, and, unfortunately, went out to others in the congregation. It is vicious. I am accused of being a pastor who ‘reads little more than the Internet and leads at considerable expense of biblical truth.’ It goes on to say, ‘We believe the pulpit committee has made a critical error by calling Dan; we do not have confidence in a board that supports a pastor who, among other things, does not teach with integrity, insight, or authority.’

“This is not how the body of Christ comes together to know what to do!

“Another letter has been distributed questioning my wife: ‘The congregation was told before the new pastor was chosen that his wife possessed skills that would be an asset to the church—we have not yet seen them exhibited in this church.’

“That is over the line. Believers do not do this! There is a stronghold here. And it is wicked.

“Some said we’re going to split at the next annual meeting, as this church has done in the past. But I don’t think so. Don’t be disheartened. Don’t lose hope. I can’t let a few people attacking my family take my eyes off what God is doing here; I hope you won’t either.”

I closed by reminding those present that the church’s leadership was asking for their help. We asked them to stay and pray. For 30 minutes, almost everyone stayed in prayer. Only a few, some I knew as the authors of the letters, got up and left. One left whistling.

At the annual meeting, many people came in support of the board and me. One woman stood at an open microphone and said, “This church and its leadership are moving. We support them. You can move with us, or move out of the way!”

For the first time, the vocal dissenters saw how small their group was. Many of them left the church. But the work of cleansing and renewal was far from done. The church had split before, only to find new dissenters arise. Then it split again, and again new critics. What would stop the pattern from repeating itself once more?

Clean out our crud Three months before that annual meeting, two children skipped Sunday school to start three fires in our education wing. Ten hours later, the ancient four-story brick building had crumbled and sunk into a pit of water, muck, mud, and ash that used to be our basem*nt.

At a leadership retreat two weeks after the fire, someone said, “That hole they are digging out from our burnt building is how I see our church. We need to clean out our spiritual crud before we rebuild.”

Everyone agreed.

Our church had “spiritual crud in the basem*nt” that was giving seed to a diabolical spirit of criticism. Even before the letters confirmed it, our leaders recognized the church had been repeating the same sins for years. This was no longer a fight over the pastor, it was a whole church issue.

Now, after the annual meeting, our leadership began reading on breaking habitual sin. Over the next year, we studied Neil Anderson’s Setting Your Church Free and Steps to Freedom, and learned that this sin is a generational problem. Scott Peck, in People of the Lie, showed us that evil was operating in our church. The whistler and his followers gave voice to the attacks, but the demons had been busy here years before.

Our leaders felt freedom in these discoveries, but we recognized that the congregation still needed some kind of cleansing and healing event that would signal a new beginning. We began planning an “assembly of renewal” that would take place on Maundy Thursday, 15 months after we first confronted our church’s sin of divisive criticism.

Let the healing begin For the assembly we asked Matt and his wife, as well as other previous pastors, to attend. We organized flights and lodging and meals. We invited those who had left the congregation, including the pastor of the church that was started after an earlier split.

We wanted everyone who was humble and repentant and everyone who had been hurt to come in a spirit of reconciliation.

The service itself consisted of corporate prayer and commitment to renewal. We worshiped in song and silence. The current staff and elders, even the former pastors, stood and confessed sins that had contributed to our painful past.

We also included a time for people to encourage others for anything they had endured. The encouragement to past leaders was overwhelming.

Then a respected leader from a parachurch organization led us all in Communion. For the first time since coming to Elim, I could feel the congregation participating not just in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper, but in spiritual communion.

Finally, the service was closed by Pastor Matt. The church had split during his tenure, and his participation at the final stage demonstrated our new commitment to unity. His benediction was unforgettable.

Our assembly of renewal happened three years ago. Both physically and spiritually, it was worth the price to “dig out the old crud” and start anew. We have discovered new roads for impact in the community, I’ve discovered new confidence in preaching, and the change in our congregation has been a testimony to other churches around us.

But the assembly alone did not turn us around. It was a God thing. It was a prayer thing. It was a necessary thing. For our church, it was a rebirth.

Dan Cooley is pastor of Elim Chapel in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

Planning an Assembly of Renewalby Dan Cooley

Here’s what we learned in the process:

• Explain, explain, explain. Let everyone know what this repentance service is, and why it is so important. Mention in a couple of sermons and the church newsletter is not enough.
• Invite the unrepentant to stay home. This is time for renewal, not rehashing of past complaints.
• Leaders must confess first. We confessed gossiping, too, and lack of discipline. Our church knows these will not be tolerated in the future.
• Vary the prayers: corporate, individual, written, spontaneous. And allow space for silence. God works in the silences, too.
• Ask an outsider to guide the forgiveness section. It is better accepted coming from a nonpartisan leader.
• Make time for restoration and encouragement. The individuals present need healing for all they’ve endured. Allow plenty of time for people to meet one-on-one to ask forgiveness and encourage the wounded.
• Wash feet. Another congregation asked us to lead their assembly, and this humble ministry was a splashing success.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Stephen Jean-Marie was born in the West Indies, never knew his father, experienced physical abuse, was kicked out of his home, started selling drugs, and at one point held a gun in his hand, intending to kill himself.

“Cue,” as he’s known, is also a talented rapper who by the early 1990s was a rising artist with a hit song, a Virgin Records contract, and performing before crowds as large as 60,000.

“I was living large but feeling empty. I started praying to God,” he says. A friend invited him to church, where he received Christ, grew in his faith, but became disillusioned, seeing how few African-American churches were reaching his generation.

Another friend invited him to NewSong (www.newsong.net), a church in Irvine, California. “It’s real,” the friend said. “It’s about reaching the next generation.” Indeed, the average age is 28. They meet in rented facilities, but that doesn’t seem to discourage any of the 2,000 worshipers.

Cue was so impressed that he joined the staff there. Today Cue, 39, is director of a community development corporation focused on Crenshaw, an African-American section of L.A.

An African-Asian-American church

The most unusual dimension of this story is that the church is primarily Asian-American. Senior Pastor David Gibbons, 42, has a Korea-born mother and Irish-American father. While the Asian population is the largest at NewSong, “the white, Hispanic and African-American crowd is growing every year,” says Gibbons. “We’re committed to being a church that represents the beauty, mystery, and diversity found in God.”

NewSong, launched in 1994, was inspired by Psalm 40. “It became clear what the ‘new song’ was to be for us,” Gibbons says, “a multi-ethnic movement that reaches the next generation through planting churches and focusing on the next generation of leadership.”

The church’s ministry in Crenshaw, called The Shaw, focuses on Sports, Health, the Arts, and Worship. It is part of NewSong’s JAC (Justice, Advocacy, and Compassion) ministry paradigm. Cue’s ministry has also aided a second site for NewSong, which was started in Crenshaw under the leadership of Site Pastor Adam Edgerly, 40, an African American.

“Diversity is not just about being politically correct,” Edgerly says. “It’s about reflecting the very heart of God. We want to lead a renaissance of community transformation among the under-resourced. We’re also passionate about addressing local and global concerns of justice, advocacy, and the poor.”

Perhaps the church’s most replicable feature is its urban-suburban synergy. “We’re intentional about not franchising a church like ours,” says Gibbons, “but in learning what the conversation starters are in the target community, typically issues of compassion and justice that show you’re authentic. We need to go as Jesus would.”

Where did this vision come from? “As a kid, my best friends were African-American or Caucasian,” says Gibbons. “I wondered why churches were so segregated. Further, I saw how most churches I knew weren’t connecting with my friends. I began to sense a call to reach the emerging global village.”

People at NewSong like to describe themselves by saying, “We ain’t your mama’s church.” Translated, the truth of God may not change, but each generation may need a different conversation starter about spiritual matters. The good news, as Gibbons sees it, is that a rising generation of ethnic leaders is available to reach those neglected communities. “They’ve got the gifts,” he says. “They just need the encouragement.”

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.

With more than 2 million people actively blogging on the Internet, the weblog is an excellent means for pastors to stretch their minds and (maybe) to reach their flocks. Tim Bednar, a former youth pastor and now church planter in Minneapolis, advocates blogging as a tool for spiritual formation. His website is e-church.com.

How many people blog for spiritual reasons?

A Perseus survey estimated that by the end of 2004 there would be 10 million blogs. A report from Pew suggests that somewhere between 2 and 7 percent of Internet users blog, which puts the number between 2.5 to 8.9 million. The blogs4God.com search engine lists over 1,100 Christian bloggers, but that is hardly definitive; blogs4God only lists those who register their blog. I would estimate it in the hundreds of thousands because the majority of bloggers who discuss religion would not label themselves as “spiritual bloggers.”

Why are they undercover?

There are bloggers who are obviously Christian like HealYourChurchWebsite.com or my own weblog, but I’ve found bloggers avoid being labeled.

In the blogosphere, labels matter little; reputations mean everything. Spiritual bloggers often take an incarnational approach; we bring Christ into our conversations on The Da Vinci Code, Janet Jackson, theology, or politics. We let the reader decide whether we are spiritual.

How is it different from journaling?

Blogging is like spiritual journaling in that it is a discipline. About two-thirds of the roughly 10 million blogs are abandoned after two months. It is hard to write every day. It is also like journaling in that it attempts to connect with God through writing.

The most significant difference is that blogs expect an audience. Bloggers learn quickly that their blogs are public and that the public has an opinion. People like Gordon MacDonald have used journaling as a way to order their private world. Blogs augment our intellect but also record our spiritual journey.

Two-thirds of American Internet users surf the web for spiritual purposes. How do you see this affecting our church experience?

A recent study discovered that Internet seekers remain connected to their local church, but they pursue their own spiritual interests online. Blogging is an attractive spiritual discipline precisely because it is unmediated by our church or pastor.

In the blogosphere, there are no gatekeepers. We explore ideas without being pre-judged.

Many Christian bloggers are tired of prepackaged sermon series and discussing best-selling books in our small groups. We blog because we can create spiritual information as well or better than our pastors—especially when we blog as part of a network.

One could view this as rebellion. We are taking control of our spiritual formation and creating networks outside traditional structures. That’s why this revival remains largely unnoticed by pastors.

How can pastors participate in spiritual blogging?

We are a generation of Internet users (not distinguished by age) who view themselves as participants, not consumers. It’s important for pastors to note this transformation from a passive to a participatory congregation. Millions of us do not want pastors to be gatekeepers; but we need pastors who foster spiritual formation by co-creating the church with us. Bloggers represent the tip of this transformation. Internet users are experiencing the networked church and it is changing them. Soon, we will bring these themes into our local church. I believe this will be the beginning of a grassroots revival not unlike the Charismatic/Pentecostal renewal of the early twentieth century.

You don’t want gatekeepers. What is the role of the pastor in the blogosphere?

Pastors should blog (many of us are or were pastors ourselves), but my advice is that pastors join the conversation—try not to preach or evangelize. Just blog about what interests you; link to lots of other sites; go beyond the Christian ghetto and link to secular sites. Eventually you will engage people like me and experience this grassroots revival.

Bednar was interviewed for Leadership by Rob Moll, associate editor of our online sister publication, ChristianityToday.com.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click for reprint information onLeadership Journal.