The Winding Path: Are Church Business Meetings Unspiritual?

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I can’t think of anyone I know who likes church business meetings. Such people probably exist, but I have not met them. On the other hand, I know many Christians who willfully avoid congregational meetings and who tell horror stories about business meetings. They are dismissive at best, and often openly scornful, as if the church’s business is something distasteful.

Signs and wonders marked the beginning of the church’s story. By comparison, today’s churches feel tepid. The apostles perform miracles while we hold business meetings and form committees. Yet as the New Testament believers prayed and waited for the promised Spirit to fall upon them in obedience to Christ’s command, Peter called for what appears to us to be something very much like an election.

It feels like a non sequitur. They have been waiting for the Spirit to move in their midst. Anticipation is growing. Why interrupt this merely to add another apostle to the list? Yet in Acts 1:19-22, Peter describes this as both “necessary” and demanded by Scripture (Acts 1:19-22). They weren’t just killing time until the Spirit showed up. This item of church business was spiritual work.

Luke is vague about the process. Was this a vote or an anointing? Did they cast ballots or lots? He tells us they nominated (literally “put forward”) two candidates: Joseph and Matthias. We aren’t told much about them other than the broad qualifications outlined by Peter. They were with the other apostles “the whole time,” beginning with John’s baptism until the ascension. They had seen the risen Christ. There is no pitch given for either nominee.

Church Business by Ballot

What we do know is that the apostles prayed for guidance and expected God to decide between the two. “Lord, you know everyone’s heart,” they prayed. “Show us which of these two you have chosento take over this apostolic ministry, which Judas left to go where he belongs” (Acts 1:24-25). The decision fell in favor of Matthias.

But the language Luke employs to describe their methodology is not what we would expect. This is not exactly what the priests did in the temple when making decisions. A lot was “cast.” The priests wrote names on stones and placed them in a vessel which was shaken until one fell out.[1] Luke calls the ballot a “lot,” but says that these lots were “put” rather than “cast,” which could suggest that the apostles made the choice by a vote.

Perhaps the difference is trivial. After all, it’s clear from their prayer that these early Christians believed that God’s hand was in the result. A vote involves reflection, deliberation, and choice. God works in both. But casting a ballot includes a human element that the lot lacks. The insertion of a human factor seems to complicate the whole affair unnecessarily. Especially when one considers the vagaries of human volition. Differences in thinking often lead to conflict and competition. Decisions come after a messy process of persuasion and debate. A top-down approach seems far more efficient.

Shrinking Congregational Involvement

Although I don’t have scientific data to confirm it, my impression is that many pastors and church leaders these days are shying away from congregational involvement in decision-making. This is certainly true of large churches that number in the thousands. But I have seen the same trend in much smaller churches. Decisions are made by a select group which includes the pastor, and the rest of the congregation is informed of the result. Some leaders theologize this methodology, claiming that congregational voting is unbiblical.[2]

Not long after Matthias was appointed, “when the number of disciples was increasing,” the apostles called another meeting to address a complaint about the daily distribution of food (Acts 6:1). This matter seems so mundane that it hardly seems worthy of their consideration.

Indeed, if we read the account carelessly, we are liable to conclude that this is how the apostles themselves felt about it. “It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables,” they said (Acts 6:2). To the modern ear, this sounds like dismissal. “We didn’t spend night and day for three years studying under Jesus to wait on tables!” they seem to object.

A Community of Spiritually Capable Adults

On its surface, the apostolic solution appears to be the one that every bureaucrat employs. Form a committee, hand the problem over to them, and turn your attention to more important (or at least more interesting) matters (Acts 6:3-4). The apostles clearly drew a line between what they had been asked to do and what they were willing to do. These days, we call this “setting boundaries.” But they did not exactly say, “We don’t wait on tables.” Instead, these leaders engaged in the good work of administration, one aspect of which is a proper division of labor by means of reasonable and thoughtful delegation.

The apostles did something else. By involving the whole church in addressing the problem, they treated the congregation as a community of spiritually capable adults. Acts 6:2-4 says that they “gathered all the disciples together” and told them to choose seven men who were full of the Holy Spirit and wisdom, saying, “We will turn this responsibility over to them and will give our attention to prayer and the ministry of the word.”

Congregational leadership styles exist on a continuum. At one extreme are autocratic leaders who engage in top-down decision-making. If we take Luke’s narrative at face value, this appears to have been the expectation of those who brought the widows’ problem to the apostles. They demanded, or at least expected, the apostles to handle the matter personally.

Leaders who stand at the opposite end of this spectrum are those who are more laissez-faire in their approach. They leave most decisions to the congregation, often more as a result of congregational tradition than by choice. Some, positioned between these extremes, will make the choice if necessary, but prefer the congregation to decide first. They are willing to advise but reluctant to take control.[3]

Three Conventional Models

Conventional ecclesiology outlines three basic models of church governance: Episcopal, Presbyterian, and Congregational. In Episcopal governance, leadership authority is vested in individual leaders who are charged with oversight of the church’s affairs. The Presbyterian model distributes this authority among a plurality of “elders,” and Congregationalism diffuses it even further by operating on democratic principles.

In actual practice, few churches are purely one mode or another. Even the most autocratic leader must sometimes yield to the wishes of the majority. It is just as true that in churches where every member has a say about what happens, some voices are inevitably given more weight than others.

Church history offers examples which reflect leadership practices all across the continuum. The same is true of the biblical narrative. Sometimes the leaders of God’s people make the important decisions. At other times, they seem to be driven by the preferences of the larger community. In the New Testament, the apostles exercised primary authority over the church’s doctrine but appear to have involved the larger body in some decisions about congregational practice.

It is tempting to distinguish between the spiritual and the organizational in the church. One is all fire, the other is ice. Pastors tend to bristle at the ordinary constraints that church business imposes upon them. Yet the example of the New Testament church in the book of Acts suggests that these bread-and-butter decisions are often the work of the Spirit, paving the way for the church’s growth and advancing its mission.

The Spirit and Our Meetings

Church business can be boring. Its meetings are sometimes chaotic. Like the Corinthians in their worship, our coming together is often a cacophony. Everyone has an opinion, a complaint, or a conviction that they are persuaded represents the mind of the Lord.

Not everyone can be right, especially when the things that are said are contradictory. Nor is every decision necessarily good. Congregations, like the individuals that constitute them, have the liberty to make foolish choices. We can be as dumb as we please, although it’s to be hoped that we will not be.

Nevertheless, the Spirit who did not abhor the Virgin’s womb is also not ashamed to cohabit with the church’s messy deliberations. When the first believers disagreed about whether it was necessary for Gentile Christians to be circumcised in order to be saved, they reached a conclusion after “much discussion” (Acts 15:7). The Greek noun can literally mean “seeking” but in the New Testament its primary note is discordant.

Traveling a Winding Path

The church did not reach its decision about this all-important matter after hearing a voice speak from heaven. It was a conclusion they came to after disputing with one another. I suspect they prayed, but all we know for certain is that they argued. After settling the dispute, the apostles and elders sent a letter to the churches, framing the conclusion in these words: “It seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us …” (Acts 15:28).

Our fear in following their example is that the congregation will take too long to reach the right conclusion. Or, perhaps, they will make the wrong choice. We worry that if we trust the deliberation process, those with whom we disagree may win the day and our own view will be defeated. We are correct on one point, at least. It is a mistake to trust the process.

We must trust in God, who not only works through human processes, but accomplishes his goals despite them. God often works through our foolish decisions. Leaders would prefer a straighter path. When Israel marched through the wilderness, God went before his people like a shepherd (Ps. 78:52). The straight path from Sinai to Canaan was a two-week journey. Instead, it took Israel forty years. God has never been afraid of a little detour.

[1] F. J. Foakes Jackson and Kirsopp Lake, The Beginnings of Christianity Part I: The Acts of the Apostles Vol. IV (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1979), 15.

[2] For example, Greg Gilbert argues that congregational voting should be fairly limited and favors elder led decision making: https://www.9marks.org/article/i-move-we-dont-vote-so-much/.

[3] Jason Wollschlager, Elizabeth L. Abbey, and Stacy M. Keogh George, “Pastoral Leadership and Congregational Vitality,” Review of Religious Research 60, no. 4 (2018): 576.

Full of Days: The Five Blessings of Old Age

Featured ~ John Koessler ~ 1 Comment

Several years ago, I sent a letter to Eugene Peterson, one of my favorite authors, inviting him to write a foreword to a book I had just written. A few weeks later, I received a note from him which gently declined the invitation. “I am fast becoming an old man; the strength diminishes; I’m unable to do what I used to take on effortlessly,” he explained. Then, in true Eugene Peterson form, he added a line from a Wendell Berry poem: “I am an old man / but I don’t think of myself as an old man / but as a young man with disabilities . . .” Lately, I have been thinking a lot about what Peterson wrote. I probably crossed the line from “fast-becoming” into full-blown old age when I turned 70 a year and a half ago. I didn’t think about it much at the time. Like Wendell Berry, I could still think of myself as a young man, at least on the inside, if it weren’t for the old man who peered back at me every time I looked in the mirror. Lately, however, something has changed. I don’t feel young anymore. I feel my age more than I used to, and not just physically. I find myself wondering what the spiritual implications of aging might be.

Tarnish on the Golden Years

As a rule, our common perception of aging tends to be a negative one. We may stereotype this stage of life as our “golden years,” but many, if not most, people see aging through a negative filter. They view it as a time of loss and debilitation. Health declines, and friends die, leaving us isolated. There may also be a feeling that we have been set aside and marginalized. Some of this comes from within. When we are younger, our work is a major contributor to our sense of identity. It also occupies most of our energies. When that disappears, it can be traumatic. We aren’t sure who we are anymore.

I believe this loss of a sense of self is aggravated further by an underlying suspicion that the idea of retirement is unbiblical. Christians, we have been told, should burn out rather than rust out. When I announced my retirement, the question I was asked most often was, “What are you going to do with your time?” People seemed anxious for me. One of my colleagues reproved me for even considering the idea. “You can’t just do nothing!” they said.

One negative consequence of this anti-retirement theology is guilt by association with the old sin of sloth. It also suggests that our value is determined by how busy we are. For some, it may lead to a general perception that older saints are either unproductive dead weights in the church or that they are a drain on its attention and resources. Having a congregation that primarily consists of older people is seen as a problem, not a strength. For the elderly, this anti-retirement rhetoric can be a source of false guilt and produce in them a sense that God no longer values them.

Perhaps the greatest challenge faced by those who enter the last stage of their journey is the wrestling match with one’s past that often ensues. The latter years are a season of remembering and reflection. “I’m in my anecdotage,” congresswoman and journalist Clare Boothe Luce said when she was 78. It is not an accident that older people speak so much about the past. One reason is that there has been a shift in the focus of our attention. There is much more road behind us than in front. What lies before us is shrouded in mystery. We cannot make reservations, create itineraries, or even nurture ambition. What is certain is known only in broad strokes.

The final stage of life is a processing space. Our latter years are years of reflection that can turn into a downward spiral into the depths of regret. These regrets are not always for ourselves. They are often directed toward God as our focus on what took place in the past inevitably leads us to ask why. We cannot always find a satisfactory answer. At least, not one that we find compelling enough to assuage the disappointment we may feel.

The Five Blessings of Old Age

The truth is that the Bible’s general perspective when it comes to aging is a positive one. Old age is spoken of as a blessing. When Scripture tells us that Job lived to be “an old man, and full of days,” it is emblematic of blessing. In fact, in Job’s case, it is a sign of restoration (Job 42:16). In the book of Proverbs, old age is portrayed as a kind of arrival. “The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the splendor of the old,” Proverbs 20:29 says. What strength is to the young, age is to the old. Age is an asset, not a liability.

But for the old, there is also a hint of loss in this verse. The strength that is the glory of the young is no longer the possession of the old. What do they get in its place? Gray hair? Really? Is the benefit merely cosmetic? I was hoping for more. What is it that age brings to the table?

First of all, and this is no small thing, old age brings length of days. In general, Scripture portrays the prolongation of life as a blessing and not a curse (Gen. 15:15; Deut. 4:40; 5;33; 22:7; Isa. 53:10). More time is more opportunity. But to do what?

Old age is associated with fruitfulness in the Bible, but a specific kind. The Psalmist says that those who are planted in house of God will flourish. According to Psalm 92:14–15: “They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, “The Lord is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.” What the Psalmist describes might be characterized as an extended vision of God. Age leads to insight when God is our primary reference point.

Consequently, there is often an association between age and wisdom in Scripture. It is no accident that counselors and advisers in the Bible often held the title of elder. But it isn’t the case that age automatically conveys wisdom. Older doesn’t always mean wiser. Ecclesiastes 4:13 observes, “Better a poor but wise youth than an old but foolish king who no longer knows how to heed a warning.” The downside of aging is that it can produce a rigidity in thinking that leads to stubbornness and an unwillingness to receive correction. Those who are used to giving advice often find it hard to take it. However, the general principle is that time and perspective go together. The more extended our days, the more expansive our perspective. The biblical word for that perspective is wisdom.

Age is the repository of memory. “Remember the days of old; consider the generations long past,” Deuteronomy 32:7 admonishes. “Ask your father and he will tell you, your elders, and they will explain to you.” Ironically, the stereotype of aging that we have usually focuses on memory loss. Perhaps this is the anxiety that proves the point. Maybe we know by instinct that memory is a treasure. This is lived memory interpreted through personal experience. The biblical word for it is witness.

Friendship with God is the ultimate gift that age has to offer. Genesis 48:2 describes how, at the end of his life, Jacob sat up in bed, and blessed Joseph’s sons. In many ways, Jacob had lived a hard life that included several disappointments, discord within his family, and great sorrow. Indeed, this was so much the case that when Pharaoh asked Jacob how old he was upon his first arrival in Egypt, the patriarch answered: “My years have been few and difficult, and they do not equal the years of the pilgrimage of my fathers” (Gen. 47:9). But on his deathbed, sick and nearly blind, Jacob pronounced a blessing over Joseph’s sons with these words:

“May the God before whom my fathers
    Abraham and Isaac walked faithfully,
the God who has been my shepherd
    all my life to this day,
the Angel who has delivered me from all harm
    —may he bless these boys.
May they be called by my name
    and the names of my fathers Abraham and Isaac,
and may they increase greatly on the earth” (Gen. 48:15–16).

The End of the Matter

That being said, any older person can tell you that if aging is a blessing, it is a mixed blessing. The Bible does not dismiss or sentimentalize the challenges that come with aging. If anything, it is uncomfortably frank about the subject. “Remember your Creator, in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, ‘I find no pleasure in them,’ Ecclesiastes 12:1 warns. The same Bible that portrays length of days as a blessing also calls them “days of trouble.”

Scripture does indeed say that Job died old and full of days. He died on the upswing with fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand donkeys. He had seven sons and three beautiful daughters, and every one of them was rich. Job lived to be 140 years old and saw his children’s children to the fourth generation. But I can’t help wondering if there were nights when that old patriarch closed his eyes and dreamt of the children he had lost. Did his heart leap with surprise to see their faces again? And when he awoke in the morning light, were his eyes wet with tears for the days he had missed with them?

We don’t have to deny the very real changes and challenges that come with age. We don’t even have to like them. But I think we do ourselves a disservice if they are the only things we associate with the last stage of our lives. Aging does involve loss. Our capacity does indeed change. Eugene Peterson was right. Strength diminishes, interests change, and we are unable (or unwilling) to do some of the things we once did. We may find ourselves shaken by the years and haunted by the losses that have accumulated.

I appreciate the counterpoint that I find in Jacob’s testimony to Pharaoh about his own experience. He is no Pollyanna. His words are born out of 130 years of lived experience. He is honest enough not to hide from the reality of the sorrow he has experienced. Yet Jacob’s last words confirm what the author of Hebrews says was true of him and of all who are like him. Like many others, Jacob died in not yet having “received what had been promised” (Heb. 11:39). Yet Jacob died believing that the God who made these promises had been a shepherd to him all his life. Right up to the day of his death.

I have often said that the primary work of the last stage of life is to let go and prepare for death. There is some truth in this. I suspect one of God’s purposes for the rigors and losses that accompany old age is to pry our hands away from the life we have known so that we hold them open to the life to come. But in saying this, I think I overlooked another even more important truth. The greatest gift that aging has to offer is the opportunity to trace the hand of God in what has gone before. It is the gift of piecing together the mosaic of all that has happened and recognizing in it the hand of a shepherd.

Added Value

October 4, 2018October 4, 2018 ~ John Koessler ~ 2 Comments

The leaders of a church I know were discussing the membership roll. It is the sort of thing that congregations have to do every once in a while. People move away or they decide to attend somewhere else. If the constitution calls for a certain number to be in attendance in order to hold a business meeting, a bloated and inaccurate roll makes it difficult to achieve a quorum. I get it. I really do. From time to time a church needs to purge its list of members.

But more than once during the meeting, as various candidates for removal were discussed, the same observation was made: “Well, they don’t contribute anything anyway.” The comment didn’t have anything to do with money. They weren’t even talking about attendance. Not really. They were talking about involvement.

I have found this to be a common way of thinking in churches these days. It is a perspective which believes that the value of those who claim to be a part of the church is shaped by what they produce for the church. It is not enough to simply show up on Sunday or even to worship. You must somehow add value to be of value. Serve coffee or sit in the nursery. Teach Sunday school or go on the church’s latest ministry trip. Serve on a church committee. Do whatever you like but don’t just sit there. I thought the same way when I was a pastor.

I was wrong. Our value is derived not produced. We are of value to the church simply because we belong to Christ. Even those members who seem to contribute nothing are essential. As 1 Corinthians 12:21 says, “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I don’t need you!’ And the head cannot say to the feet, ‘I don’t need you!’” “But that’s just the point!” some of us will want to reply. “Everybody knows that eyes and hands are important. They make a contribution to the overall well-being of the body. The problem with these deadbeat members is that they are atrophied limbs. They just sit there. They don’t do anything. They are just dead weight!” Yet Paul warns that we cannot even say this. Those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable. The parts that seem to be deserving of less honor are to be treated with “special honor” (1 Cor. 12:22).

We, of course, tend to do just the opposite. We value the strong and award special treatment to those that we think contribute the most. But God’s assessment is radically different. He has “…put the body together, giving greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other” (1 Cor. 12:24). His standard of measure is not what people contribute but their need for someone to be concerned about them. We are not the best judges when it comes to determining whose presence adds the most value to the church, especially when we are in leadership. Our motives are too mixed. Our assessment is shaped too much by our own goals. Those who are worthy of the most attention are likely to be the ones we notice the least. Those who add the most value are liable to be those in whom we see little or no value at all.

The Trouble with the 80/20 Rule

August 14, 2018 ~ John Koessler ~ 9 Comments

You know the 80/20 rule. You probably heard about it from your pastor. The 80/20 rule is the statistic which says that in the average church 20% of the people do 80% of the ministry. There is a problem with the 80/20 rule and it’s not the uneven distribution of labor.

Before I go any further I need to confess that when I was a pastor I used the 80/20 rule to try and motivate the congregation. It’s a helpful statistic, if your main goal is to get people to hang their heads in shame. It is also good for reinforcing the pride or the resentment of those who see themselves as part of the 20%. What it does not do is motivate the 80% to greater involvement. I know this from personal experience. I have been on both sides of the statistic.

But that’s not the reason the 80/20 rule is problematic. The real problem is the way this statistic defines ministry. When church leaders (and let’s be honest it’s usually only church leaders who use this statistic) speak of ministry, they almost always mean church programs. They are talking about the nursery or the Sunday school program. They mean VBS or the weeknight kids club or the latest short-term mission trip to some country that also sometimes shows up as a destination for the prize puzzle on Wheel of Fortune. What they don’t mean are the kinds of things you and I spend most of our time doing. Things like working at our jobs, raising our kids, caring for our families, relating to our neighbors, or being a citizen.

There is a reason for this. It has to do with the competitive environment in which the church does business. Most churches use the term ministry to describe the religious goods and services they provide. Those goods and services are the main product they offer to their customers. The more product they offer, the larger their customer base. Because most churches operate with limited staff, they rely mostly on volunteers. Those volunteers carry out this work in between everything else they are doing in their lives. It is their ministry. Everything else is pretty much dead space.

So what’s wrong with the 80/20 rule? The trouble is that the 80/20 rule is a calculation based on a definition of ministry that concerns itself with far less than 20% of what we do with our lives and leaves the rest out. It might be better described as the 90/10 rule or even the 98/2 rule. It is limited not only because the things that it defines as ministry fall outside those areas where most of us expend the majority of our energy but because of the limited number of options it provides. By this definition, there are only a handful of things that really qualify as a ministry.

This is more than a bad definition. Ultimately it reflects a failure of the church’s mission. The function of the church is not to train workers for the spiritual marketplace. It is to equip its members to live the Christian life. They live out this calling as a distributed community, dispersed in their various locations, jobs, and circumstances. Their ministry is to bear witness to the grace of God and the transforming work of Jesus Christ in whatever context they find themselves.

My friend Al is a good example of this. Before he retired, Al worked as a special education teacher in the public school system. Now he spends much of his time as a caregiver for members of his family. He not only tends to their practical needs by preparing meals or providing transportation but maintains a spiritual presence. Al prays for his family and talks to them about God. He doesn’t teach Sunday school or go on short-term mission trips. He doesn’t serve on church committees. In fact, most of what the church is concerned about seems removed from Al’s life. The church does not seem especially concerned about him except as a potential laborer. He is part of the 80%.

In reality, there is no 80%. There are only followers of Jesus, dispersed in their various callings and contexts and charged with the task of living for Christ. Some do it well. Some fail. Most muddle through without much encouragement or instruction from the church. When the pastor mentions the 80/20 rule, they hang their heads in shame.

Denial is not a River in Egypt

August 9, 2018 ~ John Koessler ~ 11 Comments

The lead pastors of Willow Creek Community Church have resigned. So have the church’s elders, after admitting that they made mistakes in their handling of allegations of sexual misconduct leveled against Bill Hybels, the megachurch’s former leader. But if there is anything unusual in this tragic saga, it is only the prominence of those involved and the scope of the church’s influence. There is a name for this sort of collective leadership failure. It is called denial and it happens to all of us.

In family systems, denial is usually a result of misdirected love combined with self-preservation. It is a distortion of love’s natural inclination to hope and its desire not to keep a record of wrong (1 Cor. 13:5, 7). Denial is a misguided attempt to shield ourselves from pain. We shut our eyes and pull the covers over our head. We refuse to accept the evidence that is presented to us because we do not want to face the implications that come with it.

In organizations, denial is expressed as blind loyalty. In Christian organizations, this blindness is often spiritualized. The conditional skepticism which 1 Timothy 5:19 advises when it comes to accusations made against leaders is inordinately expanded. Instead of requiring that accusations be validated by credible witnesses, no criticism is deemed warranted. Critics are branded as troublemakers. Those who accuse are considered to be emotionally imbalanced. The person who points out the problem becomes the problem.

The larger the organization, the easier it is to slip into denial. If a ministry is perceived as being “too big to fail,” often its senior leader is viewed the same way. Anyone who is obliged to the leader is especially vulnerable. If the leader hired, promoted, or acted as a mentor to you, your initial response to a criticism or accusation against that person will be disbelief. If the criticism continues, disbelief will eventually turn to anger that is directed not against the accused but the accuser.

The biblical prophets were slain. They were stoned to death or put to the sword. One was even sawn in half. The Christian organization has a more civilized way of silencing those who challenge its leaders. Their weapon of choice is contempt. When denial becomes a feature of an organization’s culture, its critics are marginalized. They may be removed from important committees or even fired. But more often they are simply allowed to remain in place while their opinions are dismissed. “Oh, that’s just Mary,” someone says with a condescending smile. The implied message is clear. Mary has issues. There is no need for us to listen to her. Perhaps Mary does have issues but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen to her story.

Denial lends itself to the kind of ad hominem rationalizations that allow us to dismiss criticisms we don’t want to hear. When 1 Timothy 5:19 warns that a criticism against an elder should not be “entertained” without multiple witnesses, it does not counsel the church to silence those who criticize. It means that an accusation should not be accepted as fact without evidence. This evidence takes two forms. One is narrative in nature. The standard of 1 Timothy 5:19 is a credible account of two or more people. We may not like the one who criticizes but we owe to it to them to take their story seriously. By this, I do not mean that we automatically accept it as fact. Whatever is said needs to be verified. But we can at least assume that the critic has a reason for leveling charges. The first step to addressing the problem is the act of respectful listening, no matter whether the problem lies with the leader or the accuser.

The second form of evidence is behavioral. Once the standard of credible testimony is met, the church has an obligation to confront a leader who has sinned. What is more, this action is supposed to be carried out in public (1 Tim. 5:20). This stipulation implies a pattern of behavior. Actions have been taken. Behavior or its consequences has been observed. There is more going on here than a bad feeling about someone. One contributing factor in Willow Creek Community Church’s crisis was that observable patterns of behavior were overlooked or explained away.

Denial’s most insidious feature is its power to make the evil which is in plain sight seem invisible. When we should pay attention, we do not. Instead, we ignore and then excuse. Even though the proof is right in front of us, we deliberately turn a blind eye. This may be the worst aspect of denial because it means that if we are suffering from it, we probably don’t know it. We need to be alerted to denial’s presence by someone else. Probably by the last person you want to hear from. Maybe from the person you least respect. No wonder the Psalmist prayed, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me and know my anxious thoughts; And see if there be any hurtful way in me, And lead me in the everlasting way (Ps. 139:23-24).

Baptists Gone Wild

July 26, 2018 ~ John Koessler ~ 2 Comments

The first Christian movie I ever saw was called A Stranger in My Forest. I don’t know when it was made but I watched it in the 1970’s. I was attending a Baptist church that wouldn’t let its members go to the movies. But films like this one, along with Moody Science Films, were considered a righteous alternative. It was New Year’s Eve. I guess they were trying to keep us off the streets and out of the bars. The thought of watching a movie in the church felt like living on the edge. This was our vision of Baptists gone wild: sing a few hymns to organ accompaniment, watch the movie, then end the evening holding hands and singing “Blest be the Tie that Binds.” We were home by 9 pm.

The plot of Stranger in My Forest was your basic reworking of Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son. I had never heard of any of the actors and the production quality of the movie was a little lower than cheap television. If I am remembering correctly, the turning point in the story’s plot was a car accident, which was also the occasion for the film’s only moment of graphic violence. It was a zooming shot of the shattered paws of the little dog who was killed in the wreck. There was an invitation to believe in Jesus at the end of the film.

The most famous Christian film of that era was A Thief in the Night, a movie about the rapture of the Church. This was before Left Behind became a cultural phenomenon. For those who don’t know, the rapture is a term that some Christians use to speak of the church’s being caught up to be with Jesus Christ in the end times. The word puzzled me in my early days as a follower of Jesus. It sounded too much like the title of a Christian romance novel. Not Baptist’s Gone Wild exactly but maybe something like Rapture in the Pews. They could have made a movie based on the book and showed it in church on New Year’s Eve.

I soon learned that most of my Baptist friends were ignoring the church’s rule about not going to the movies. I eventually broke the rule too, when the first Star Wars film came out. I can still remember hearing gasps during the opening scene when the star destroyer first comes into view. I think I actually ducked. I had never seen anything like it before. Certainly not in any Christian movie. The film’s underlying pagan philosophy didn’t bother me too much. I was mostly interested in the explosions.

Now those original Star Wars look a little like A Stranger in My Forest to me. Sort of quaint and outdated. Low production quality. Or at least, lower production quality than we usually see today. Meanwhile, the Baptists are making films for the movie theater. They often star actors whose names you actually know. I think Billy Graham started it all with The Prodigal, a film that was loosely based on Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son. Graham actually appeared in the film somewhere toward the end and gave an invitation to believe in Jesus.

The other night I rented a Christian movie from the video store. You might have seen ads for it when it was first released in theaters a few months ago. The movie had at least one major star in it. If I told you his name, you’d recognize it. The acting was pretty good. The soundtrack was full of popular songs. You really couldn’t tell a difference from any other Hollywood film, except that there was no swearing or sex in it. Also, Iron Man, Thor, and Wonder Woman did not appear in any of the scenes.

There wasn’t any graphic violence either, except for the one scene where someone breaks a plate over someone’s head. There was some implied domestic abuse. The plot was a basic reworking of the parable of the prodigal son, only Jesus was hardly mentioned in the film at all. The movie was really more about the Christian music industry and the importance of following your dreams. There was an invitation at the end to call a phone number, if you had any problems with domestic violence.

Baptists gone wild.

Church Going by Philip Larkin

April 13, 2011 ~ John Koessler ~ Leave a comment

Once I am sure there’s nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence,

Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new-
Cleaned or restored? Someone would know: I don’t.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
‘Here endeth’ much more loudly than I’d meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate, and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort or other will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,

A shape less recognizable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation – marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these – for whom was built
This special shell? For, though I’ve no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognised, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.

You can listen to Philip Larkin read this poem here. You can read my article “I’ve Been Hurt by the Church, So Why Should I Go?” on the Christianity Today website.

The Preacher Who Failed

November 20, 2010November 20, 2010 ~ John Koessler ~ 1 Comment

I was deeply moved the other day by David Grayson’s description of the Scottish minister in his book Adventures in Contentment:

The Scotch preacher was finding his place in the big Bible; he stood solid and shaggy behind the yellow oak pulpit, a peculiar professional look on his face. In the pulpit the Scotch preacher is too much minister, too little man. He is best down among us solvent. Is there a twisted and hardened heart in the community he beams upon it from his cheerful eye, he speaks out of his great charity, he gives the friendly pressure of his large hand, and that hardened heart dissolves and its frozen hopelessness loses itself in tears. So he goes through life, seeming always to understand. He is not surprised by wickedness nor discouraged by weakness: he is so sure of a greater Strength!

A little later Grayson writes:

As I remember it, our church was a church of failures. They sent us the old gray preachers worn out in other fields. Such a succession of them I remember, each with some peculiarity, some pathos. They were of the old sort, indoctrinated Presbyterians, and they harrowed well our barren field with the tooth of their hard creed. Some thundered the Law, some pleaded Love; but of all of them I remember best the one who thought himself the greatest failure. I think he had tried a hundred churches — a hard life, poorly paid, unappreciated — in a new country. He had once had a family, but one by one they had died. No two were buried in the same cemetery; and finally, before he came to our village, his wife, too, had gone. And he was old, and out of health, and discouraged: seeking some final warmth from his own cold doctrine. How I see him, a trifle bent, in his long worn coat, walking in the country roads: not knowing of a boy who loved him!

He told my father once: I recall his exact words:

“My days have been long, and I have failed. It was not given me to reach men’s hearts.”

Oh gray preacher, may I now make amends? Will you forgive me? I was a boy and did not know; a boy whose emotions were hidden under mountains of reserve: who could have stood up to be shot more easily than he could have said: “I love you!”

Working For God: Part I

September 27, 2010 ~ John Koessler ~ Leave a comment

Before I entered the ministry I worked for the General Motors Corporation trudging up and down the floors of the company’s world headquarters in downtown Detroit delivering telegrams. Every floor seemed to have its own culture. There were the computer technicians in their white lab coats in the basement who always seemed glad to see me. A few floors up the sales managers greeted one another in the hallway and talked about their golf game. I could feel the competitive tension between them when I stepped out of the elevator.

High above us all, like the gods of Olympus, the president and vice–presidents were housed on the fourteenth floor. Visitors gained access to their wing by passing through a large glass door that served as a kind of veil into the holy of holies of the corporation. All who entered underwent the scrutiny of a stern looking security guard. This floor was a place of dark wood and dim light. The air was heavy with important decisions. Intimidated, I passed through those offices like a ghost, rarely speaking and barely noticed.

Although I liked my job, I spent much of my time wishing I could be doing something more “meaningful.” Eventually, I got my wish. I quit working for the automobile company and entered the realm of “vocational ministry.” I soon discovered that “full–time–ministry” had much in common with the world of work I thought I was leaving behind. It is tedious at times. It too has its share of mind numbing meetings that seem to go on forever and produce little result. I found that those in the Christian workplace could be driven by the same goals and beset by the same problems as their secular counterparts. I should not have been surprised. While I consider my chosen vocation to be more than a job, it is still work. This is not a bad thing. “Work,” Eugene Peterson has observed, “is the primary context for our spirituality.”

Ministry is my vocation. It is also my career. This is both a blessing and a curse. Its curse is that it means I am tempted to approach my vocation with the mentality of the hireling. One who is merely a hired hand will do the work but will not take responsibility for the outcome. The hireling does only what must be done and will do no more. When the task demands more than expected, one who is merely hireling does not possess the degree of commitment required to meet the challenge (cf. John 10:12–13).

Yet despite this threat, it should be noted that Jesus Himself introduced the metaphor of the “worker” into Christian ministry. It was Jesus who sent the disciples out and told them that “the worker deserves his wages” (Luke 10:7). The apostle Paul used this standard as the basis for his guidelines to those who provide for the church’s elders (1 Tim. 5:17–18). Because my vocation and my career are the same, I enjoy the privileged of devoting myself without distraction to the calling that I love. I don’t have to try to fit it in around my regular job.

Those who direct the affairs of the church are worthy of “honor.” Those who labor in preaching and teaching are especially deserving. Ministry is our work. It is good work, worthy of our time and energy. Hard as it sometimes is, it is work that is well worth the reward which is yet to come.

Challenges Pastors Face-Challenge #6: Feeling Underutilized

September 7, 2010 ~ John Koessler ~ Leave a comment

William Carey’s famous maxim was: “Expect great things from God. Attempt great things for God.” Yet some of us suffer from a nagging fear that we are underutilized in our current field of service. Our preaching ability merits a larger audience or our leadership gifts would bear more fruit if we served a congregation that was more responsive to vision. How can we achieve great things when we aren’t allowed to exercise our gifts to their fullest ability?

It is possible, of course, that we have overestimated our abilities. I know that I am better at some things than I am at others. But I also know that I think I am better at some things than is really the case. This is a conviction based upon common observation rather than self observation. Hardly any of us is really self aware. Overestimating one’s abilities is a common fault. One that is more easily seen in others than it is in ourselves. The kind of denial that causes us to think too highly of our abilities is usually immune to self-scrutiny.

But it is also very possible that we genuinely possess gifts and abilities which are greater than our current opportunities. A pastor who serves a small congregation may preach better than another whose ministry attracts a larger number. An associate pastor may have better leadership gifts than the senior pastor. The race does not go to the swift or the battle to the strong. The world is full of people whose talents go unrecognized.

God who assigns us our field also determines the scope of our influence. Carey offers good advice, as long as we grant that God’s definition of “great” may not be the same as ours.