There have been lots of comments on the Superbowl ads from last night, but the one that seems to have slipped through the cracks is the Cars.com ad. Part of the reason is that it was cute, but not side splitting. However, I liked it because my college roommate Jim’s son David played the part of the kids birthing the Bengal tiger. So, for Jim and David, here’s another chance for you to check it out.
As I’ve thought about the comments on my last post, it seems that somehow folks think I am arguing for an “either/or” perspective on a congregation’s focusing on mission and relationship. Obviously, from the beginning of this entire church thing, relationships have been important. The early Christians gathered regularly for the breaking of bread and prayer, hosting an early experiment in communism . . . uh . . . sharing of resources as each had need. And Jesus, at least according to John’s version of the story, said that the world would learn of him through the love of church members one for another.
There is no doubt that being overly focused on mission with little concern for relationships is just as flawed as being concerned about relationships without mission. For one thing it can lead to a pragmatism in which the ends justifies the means, trampling on the needs and emotions of others in order to accomplish the mission. For another it can easily cast aside the needs of the weak among us in the pursuit of our holy goals. Missional zeal which is unable to embrace others with the fruits of the Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control) is passion out of control.
One refrain that has come to me again and again in ministry is “…the process is as important as the outcome.” Yes, moving in a direction toward a mission is important, for otherwise we find ourselves wallowing in self indulgence and the pursuit of personal comfort. Yet achieving that goal never trumps the need to treat others with love and respect, and to help move folks at various speeds and levels toward the common goal. Seeking justice in one area doesn’t allow us to treat other rudely or as impediments in our way. Even those who get in the way of what we are seeking are children of God deserving of love. And, pragmatism has to be careful to recognize the human need for connection.
For a couple of years one of our mission projects was what we called a “biscuit drop.” We had done several “potato drops” with the Society of St. Andrew with good success, but as potato processors began to be more efficient, there were fewer “gleaned” potatoes available, and one year we couldn’t find any to distribute to our local hunger agencies. One of our church members, in a fit of brilliance, came up with the idea of making biscuit dough which we would package in dozen lots and quick freeze for distribution to those agencies, and the next couple of years we would take a Saturday and make thousands of biscuits (enough one year to dwarf the Statue of Liberty!). It was messy (we would take over the Fellowship Hall) and cost a couple of thousand bucks, but it was a great time of church folks getting together to work with their hands on something they loved to help others. We weren’t the most efficient operation, but it was fun and allowed persons of all ages to rub elbows kneading dough, creaming butter, and cutting biscuits.
For all the fun, there were a couple of folks in the church that simply didn’t get it. “It’s too expensive,” they said. “Why are we doing this, because we could take that same amount of money and buy even more biscuits from Pillsbury than we can make on our own.” And in one sense, they were right. If our goal was simply to help the hungry be fed, there were many ways that we could have been more efficient, many ways that we could have obtained more food for the same amount of money, and many ways to help the hungry that didn’t take as much time and energy.
But what we were doing wasn’t simply in pursuit of the goal, it wasn’t pursing the mission at all costs and damn the torpedoes to anything that stood in our way. Yes, we wanted to help those who needed to stretch their food dollars, but we also wanted to get our people tangibly involved with the act of helping, not simply throwing money at the problem. And, we wanted to be involved in that act of service together, as friends and family joined in having fun as we incarnated the love of Christ through flour, butter, and water. We had a blast! People got to know one another better. We got to play and have flour fights. And in the process, some 15,000 families in middle Tennessee got to have free biscuits for dinner one night.
So this mission/relationship thing is an “either/or” scenario. It’s a “both/and” one, the balancing of a purpose and a people to demonstrate the wholeness of God in the world.
The danger comes when our congregations lean too far one way or the other. In the context of my ministry, in the heart of the Bible belt, there can often be a focus on relationality to the exclusion of mission. In other parts of the world, the pursuit of mission cuts the heart out of Christian life and practice. In either case, we miss out on a part of God’s intention for the church, and the world misses out on a living and breathing example of kingdom reality in their midst.
I recently sat in a meeting where a congregation was thinking about their central mission focus for the coming year. The congregation had recognized that somewhere along the way it had become lax in reaching out and since their mission statement talked about the transformation of their community they recognized that they needed to identify specific areas of transformation, identifying two areas of concern from which to discern their focus.
The conversation was good as those present debated starting new programs versus plugging into existing ones. And yet, in the middle of it all, it was clear that several folks weren’t especially clear on how this conversation would grow the church. “Shouldn’t we focus on getting the people who’ve left our church to come back,” one asked. The looks on their faces suggested that they couldn’t envision how this conversation on mission had anything to do with relationships, which was (in their opinion) the central focus of the church.
I think this tension between mission and relationship is nothing new in the church. I remember a few years back visiting a church that had signs up all over the church announcing their theme for the year. “It’s all about relationships!” the signs proclaimed proudly, as if relationships were the end all/be all for Christian faith. And certainly, our narrative about God wanting to be in a relationship with humanity ties into the belief that many of us have at some level that Christianity as a whole is a relational thing. It’s reinforced by Paul’s insistence on the unity of the body, on the focus on love, grace, and forgiveness, heard in the “gifts of the spirit” of kindness, gentleness, patience — relational characteristics.
And yet, I wonder if we haven’t missed the boat entirely in making relationships the primary focus of the church.
What I am coming to see in my old age is that while Paul and the biblical authors are certainly concerned with unity and love, maintaining a positive relational space, the relationships are in the service of a broader mission. Love, both of God and neighbor, must be a part of our lives because it is love which points the world toward God. Yes, Jesus said, “The way the world will know about me, is through your love for one another, that is, through the quality of the relationships,” but the goal of all of that was to help the world know Christ. Relationships in and of themselves are connected to a broader mission, reaching beyond the relationship itself to lead the world to see God.
The problem with focusing solely on relationships in a congregation is that congregational life can quickly spiral into a twisted version of middle school, with the health of the church dependent on who’s happy and who isn’t and whether folks like one another or whether people are fighting. The lack of a broader mission means that the purpose of the congregation becomes making everyone get along with one another, with the pastor the center of a popularity contest. Church vitality becomes connected to the number of persons willing to join our club, a membership statistic driven social club that rises and falls on the politics of the moment.
Contrast that with a missionally focused congregation. It is likely that persons gathered around a similar mission have similar backgrounds, hopes and dreams, and that there is a likelihood that they will like one another and get along well. Yet, the relationships aren’t the only thing driving their being together, and their service to the broader mission means that people who struggle with one another will hang tight in their desire to service the mission. It’s easier to put petty differences aside when you are engaged in an epic struggle to change the world with others who are likewise engaged.
A year ago I gathered together with an odd group to work at defeating a proposed amendment to the Nashville charter that would limit government business to English only. To call it an odd group is a bit of an understatement, for it included Republicans AND Democrats, liberal social justice advocates AND pro-business members of the Chamber of Commerce, people from multiple economic classes and ethnicities. In normal times people in this group regularly disagree with one another and struggle to stay in the same room. However, we had been brought together to carry out a mission, a mission that led us to put aside the differences and get to work. We discovered in pursuing this mission that our differences weren’t as broad as we thought, and we found relationships forming that would have never had a chance to flourish in the past. It was the mission that formed relationships, not the other way around.
For many churches, like the one I mentioned earlier, the focus in the congregation has been on relationships at the expense of mission. These are the congregations that say things like “…our spiritual gifts are in nurture, not in service…”. While there may be some truth to these statements, my experience in churches suggests that it’s usually a cop out, for not very much intentional nurture is happening in these places either. Church has devolved from the “life saving station” it was created to be into social club, a fraternity/sorority without free beer and wild parties to draw folks in. When this happens, the politics takes over and eventually these congregations find themselves in decline, wondering what trick they can pull out of their sleeves to make people happy.
One person in the meeting last week said that she didn’t want to align her life with a church (by which she meant a location and a building) but rather she wanted to align her life with a mission. She’s not alone, and us pastoral types better recognize that the future of our congregations lies not in relationships but in helping our people become part of an epic story in which the world is really transformed.
For several years now I have heard friends throughout the states belittle the value of denominations in our country. “We are in a post-denominational world” they say. “Denominational structures get in the way of ministry. Why do you continue on a a dying system?”
There are many days when I agree with them, many days when I am convinced that the bureaucratic morass that we have created is worthless and needs to be cast aside. There are times when I fully agree that denominations are dinosaurs, the legacy of times past, which are unable to be quick and nimble in the face of need.
And then, just when I am ready to give up, some disaster happens in the world and UMCOR, the disaster relief organization of my denomination, springs into action and restores my faith in the power of denominationalism to bring about good.
UMCOR, the United Methodist Committee on Relief, has been a point of pride for me and a shining example of what can be done when multiple congregations join forces in a systemic way to address world needs. It is through our connection that we can keep in place one of the leading NGO’s which is able to respond at a moment’s notice. This connection allows us to cover the administrative costs of having a relief agency, which then means that when emergencies come and appeals are made for assistance, 100% of the dollars given are available to address those emergencies.
This is a unique gift to the world, for most other NGO’s are forced to direct some of their donated dollars toward administrative expenses. Our ability to direct 100% of donations to those in need has led to our receiving high ratings from all the leading non-profit watch dog agencies who help us know what agencies are faithful to their mission. Other agencies aren’t as efficient, and often have high administrative expenses.
There are many things we do wrong as denominations, but sometimes we need to remember than which is done right, and UMCOR is the way that we put love into action and reach out with the love of God. It’s something we can be proud of, for it demonstrates in tangible ways our commitment to love and justice.
From the very beginning of the tragedy in Haiti, UMCOR has been on the ground, in fact, the organization’s leaders were in Haiti during the earthquake resulting in at least two deaths. It is an organization that I can proudly claim as my own, and I have no reticence in telling all who might read this that it is a good place to give your money if you are looking to help out.
Visit http://new.gbgm-umc.org/umcor/work/emergencies/ongoing/haitiearthquake/ to learn more about this important source of hope.
…and to all a good night.
Long ago,
back when I was just a kid,
in the days when gospel music involved more polyester and pomade than guitars and drums,
I stumbled into a place called
Fellowship.
By day, it pretended to be a bookstore, but on certain nights the books would be pushed aside, the pulsing fluorescent tubes would be extinguished, and the guitars and tambourines, the keyboards and drums would be pulled out
so that a joyful noise could be made. These were a different type of church people than the rigid Baptist folks of my youth, a people bent on celebrating an awesome God in ways that had only recently been seen as “of the devil.” Every Friday and Saturday was overseen by the two Dons – Durham (on the left above) and Finto – as they would lead folks into the presence of God.
But through it all was Henry.
He was rarely seen, and rarely acknowledged unless some musician couldn’t hear his or her self, but he was there, sitting up in the rafters in the corner,
minding the faders,
turning the knobs,
running the recorder.
making sure that every artist, every preacher, every musician
would be heard – clearly, musically, with passion and verve.
They were up front, receiving the applause,
but without Henry, they were but a clashing cymbal or a tinkling glass.
Artists would come and go,
but there was Henry, a calm and quiet presence who simply made things work.
For this kid,
a kid who was insecure and on the edge of trouble,
there was a certain order to wires and knobs and recorders.
Just a few years earlier I had started to hang out with the audio nerds,
so when I came to Fellowship, it seemed normal to meander back to that booth in the corner,
and there was Henry,
willing to teach a kid still learning the ropes,
willing to share what God had done in his life,
and willing to be a calm and quiet presence to a kid who hadn’t had many calm and quiet presences in his life.
He didn’t embark on some sort of involved mentoring process.
He didn’t require reading or extra homework to ensure that I had a clue as to what I was doing,
and in fact, I probably didn’t have a clue.
He simply was there, offering a kind word, a simple smile,
and sometimes a silence that spoke volumes.
He didn’t know it,
but he was leading me to a new paths that neither of us could envision at the time.
As so often happens, our paths diverged.
I was going to college.
He got a new job in another city.
Life moved on.
Twenty years later,
after far too many late nights and bad mistakes on my part,
and a plethora of children and a trip to Africa on his,
we gathered in a room with hundreds of others to remember our time at Fellowship
(or as it was called back then, Koinonia).
With came a wife and child,
one who had been a part of the Koinonia days,
and another who only knew that her dad was a nerdy preacher.
There were all sorts of luminaries there,
people who had moved on to music careers, big houses, fancy cars,
and all the trappings that come with fame.
There were others,
faithful fans for whom Fellowship had made a difference in their lives.
And there, in the middle of it all,
sitting in the booth at the back among the knobs and dials, faders and meters, was Henry,
still working to make sure that God was worshiped and the gospel was heard.
After all, faith comes through hearing, doesn’t it?
And Henry lived as a faithful man to the end of his days.
I am sure, in another world to come,
God is standing front and center, speaking into a heavenly sound system,
sharing with all who can hear his voice how much he loves them.
And there, in the back, in the midst of it all, is Henry,
for the servant’s heart never leaves,
in this world, or in the world to come.
See you soon Henry.
One of the dangers we preacher folks tend to fall into when evaluating the ministries of our congregations is to focus on the metrics of participation, membership, and financial giving. There are good reasons for this, from denominational expectations around those numbers to the fact that these numbers have the most impact on our day to day work. Church “growth” is often evaluated by these metrics, which are pretty easy to gather and seem like a reasonable sign of congregational vitality. The focus on these numbers goes back to the earliest days of the church, when Luke breathlessly reported that “…thousands were being added to their numbers each day…” and Ananias found himself on the losing end of a decision to lessen his tithe.
It’s not an original thought to say that these metrics are flawed in many ways and may have little to do with congregational vitality. Many others wiser than I suggest that we should be more focused on whether we are creating disciples rather than simply drawing people in great numbers to attend our programs or worship services. In my conversations with people at all levels of ministry, there is a recognition that focusing on the metrics of participation is a simplistic and not especially nuanced view of evaluating a congregation’s ministry, but one that we continue to depend on because it is easy to understand and evaluate. “It’s not the best means of evaluation,” one church leader recently said, “but it’s what we’ve done for years and it’s too hard and subjective to evaluate on other criteria.”
This swam back into my thoughts today as I began thinking about our ministry here in Antioch. There is no doubt that by many of the metrics of participation we have been struggling. Membership is flat. Worship attendance has been declining. Financial giving has been relatively stable, which has been a great sign of hope that those who are here continue to be continued to the viability of our ministry in this community. But all in all, based on the traditional metrics of participation, it is easy to fall into despair that we are in decline and not succeeding in our ministry.
And yet, in a conversation with our Church Council chair this morning, I began to think about the activity of our church beyond those metrics of worship attendance and membership, and began to realize that while those aspects of our ministry may be declining, there are other ways that we continue to have an impact in the community for bringing forth God’s kingdom reality.
One of the gifts God has given us is a pretty useful facility. I drive by congregations all the time who have growing Sunday morning attendance but whose facilities are relatively unused. That isn’t the case for our church, for we have embraced sharing the facility as a gift with the community. Our church has some group of one kind or another in the building almost every night — groups that we aren’t especially aware of. They may be basketball teams practicing or a neighborhood association gathering to talk about issues in the community, but when put together we discover that our congregation is in “ministry” with these folks simply through sharing the gift of our building with them. These “ministries” usually don’t translate into Sunday morning worship attendance or an increase in membership, and yet they are a means by which God’s hospitality is offered to our neighbors.
I am beginning to think about a new measure of evaluation for congregations, that of determining a congregation’s “footprint.” The footprint is the overall impact a congregation has upon a community through direct and indirect means. It takes into consideration the metrics of participation, but also looks at things like building usage, community influence, direct services, benevolent giving, and other means to help a congregation recognize their influence beyond the number of bodies in pews on Sunday morning. This might include evaluating the activities of the staff in terms of their community involvement beyond the direct ministries of the church, as well as the involvement of other church leaders in activities that are connected to their congregational involvement. The footprint is a measure of congregations impact in the world. It basically asks the question, “What difference does this congregation make in the world?”
When I begin to look at our footprint as a congregation, I find myself with much more hope, for our reputation as a servant to the community goes way beyond how many folks are present on Sunday morning. The footprint recognizes that the metrics of participation are but one piece of evaluating congregational vitality and impact, and that many more of our congregations are much more successful than we might think. What is ore important, a thousand member church that has little impact on the world or a 100 member church that is bringing forth transformation?
Understand, this is not an attack on large congregations, for the footprint of these congregations is often huge and they are engaged in ministries of transformation. The problem lies in the tendency of all of us to believe that bigger is better, and to fail to recognize the footprints of smaller congregations that are often much bigger than one might think based on their size.
How would you measure your congregation’s footprint in the world? What are the signs of congregational impact on your community that go beyond your Sunday morning attendance? Am I simply in denial, or do some congregations have “big feet” that go far beyond their Sunday morning attendance?
