I like sausage. While I don’t like every kind of sausage I’ve ever tried, I like many of them. From what I’ve heard though, if I want to continue eating sausage I ought to avoid sausage factories. If I visited a sausage factory I’d see what goes into it – all the parts of the animal that people in our culture won’t buy any other way.
Paul addresses most of his epistles to “saints.” The saints in Rome, the saints in Corinth, the saints in Thessalonica, are the recipients of these letters. We think “saint” and “really holy, righteous person” comes to mind. Then we start reading these letters and we discern from Paul’s comments that these folks were not what we’d call “really holy, righteous people.” Yes, they had come to follow Jesus. Yes, they were church members and church leaders. But they didn’t get everything right. A fair number of them still looked like sinners.
We know the message of Jesus was holiness and righteousness. But we make some mistakes when we hear that message and try to instantiate it in our churches.
First, we sometimes thing that Jesus is telling us that being holy and righteous is the way to get in. That’s why I have people in my churches who ask, “Preacher, am I good enough to get in yet?” The answer is always, “No, but it doesn’t make any difference.” It’s not goodness that gets us in, it’s Jesus.
Second, we expect that righteousness and holiness from others. If we’re insiders of the church, assuming our own righteousness and holiness, we might exclude folks who just aren’t as good as we are. If we’re outsiders contemplating coming in, we might shy away or give up when we discover that the insiders (the folks who are already there) are a bunch of hypocrites, proclaimers of a righteousness and holiness they fail to embody.
An easy response would be to say that righteousness and holiness are completely irrelevant. Since we are saved entirely by Jesus, what we do doesn’t matter. Since what we do doesn’t matter we can do whatever we want. Problem is, that doesn’t look like Jesus (or the rest of the NT) either.
I have a few suggestions as we seek to protect people from the “sausage factory” of the church.
First. we need to be forthright about our sin. Sin is not just a matter of imperfection (we’re only human), not just a small thing. Sin is big enough that it brought Jesus into the world and to the cross. Our sin is never to be easily dismissed or excused.
Second, complete forgiveness is available through Jesus. We confess, he forgives. We repent, we find deliverance.
Third, as we experience the mercy of God found in Jesus, we learn to live lives of gratitude. We let our expression of gratitude crowd out our experience of sinfulness (I’m just a horrible worm, worthy of nothing but hell) and our status of saint (I’m holy and righteous) so that the people around us get the sense that what we are is due to Jesus.
Fourth, we don’t present the church as a utopia – a place for perfect people. There’s a sense in which the common image is true: church is like a hospital. A hospital is a place for healing of the sick; a church is a place of healing for sinners. No sick folk, no hospital; no sinners, no church.
Fifth, it’s usually wise to avoid the particulars when talking to the church as a whole. It’s not usually effective in our setting to shame people into repentance. More often that strategy repels people. So we admit upfront that we are sinners, that we are a place for healing and forgiveness, but observe a sort of spiritual HIPAA when in public.
Sixth, sometimes we have to deal with particulars. We have troublesome church members. We have sin addicts sometimes in prominent positions in the church. This is the heart of the sausage factory. In at least some cases it it is the job of the leader (or leaders) to just bear with people. We seek their deliverance form sin, their healing from its effects. But we don’t advertise the sin or what we’re doing about it.
What do you think? Have you found effective ways to handle the “sausage factory” like aspects of the discipleship process?
What sort of people does Christ want to deploy in the world?
What sort of church do we need to produce those people?
What sort of leaders do we need to produce that sort of church?
What sort of pastor do I need to be to produce that sort of leaders in that sort of church?
First, I like the teleological approach. We’re going somewhere. We have ends in sight.
Second, these are complex ends. My telos as a pastor doesn’t end with me. It is connected with the teloi of leaders, the church and its people.
Third, I can ask these questions wherever I am in relation to those ends, wherever I am situated in time and space (as long as I ecclesially located). When I first become a pastor of a given church, I can ask these questions. When I’ve been at a church for X years, I can still ask these questions. They will never be outmoded.
Fourth, my asking these questions is not a solo activity. While I have some insight into what kind of pastor I need to be to to produce a particular kind of leader to produce a particular kind of church that produces a particular kind of people, so do the people around me. I am not sitting at the top of the heap commanding all around me.
Fifth, and this aspect appeals to my personality type, these are general questions. They are not tied to any particular church model or program structure. As people questions, they are framed to prioritize people over structures, opening the way to flexibility in methodology.
Finally, the questions begin and end with Jesus. We pursue what Jesus wants. We want to achieve his purposes his way. What will it take to make us those kind of people?
As a church we do a fairly decent job of keeping the older generation employed and busy. We do a fairly poor job of drawing the younger generations into leadership, however, unless they are willing to plug in and do what the older generations have done and in the way that those older generations have been doing it. We have a bias in favor of experience. I understand that bias. I feel it myself. But I think it’s killing us for the long term.
Check Ben Arment’s article, The Future is the New. Here’s his argument in a nutshell:
We miss out on the most important season of a vision’s lifecycle because we have an undying love for proven ideas and a blatant disregard for new ones. We don’t want to tolerate the hardships or the impossible odds that come with new ideas. We don’t want to take a risk on something untested. We want to gather where others are gathering, celebrate what others are celebrating, and affirm what others are affirming.
What do you think about it? What are some ways we could open up to innovation by the younger generations?
I think one of our biggest fears concerns how we keep things going as change happens. We’re prone to think that the younger leaders need to step into what we’re already doing (maintaining it), establish (we really mean prove) themselves in the old roles, and only then (and slowly) move into the new and different.
The current foundation of our discipleship ministry is Sunday School. We do Sunday School for all ages. If you’ve worked with Sunday School ministry in the past couple of decades, you may have experienced a difficulty in getting people to do the work. It’s tough to find teachers. Then the ones we find may only do it for the short term. Or, without warning, they might not show up some Sunday. We want people to step into these old traditional roles now. If they have new ideas, let them try them later.
But perhaps you’ve noticed something. Children’s Sunday School still seems to be drawing some kids. Of course, the problem with children’s Sunday School is getting the parents to bring their kids. Why on earth wouldn’t parents bring their kids to Sunday School? Free child care, isn’t it? But if the parents either (a) lack a vision of discipleship to Jesus or (b) have no compelling participation in a discipleship setting themselves, then after a while even the promise of free child care becomes outweighed by the busyness of life and bother of just another activity to haul the kids to.
Are there other ways to disciple people (children and adults)? Since Sunday School as we know it is a fairly recent invention, there must be. Are we willing to allow other people to pioneer new ways of discipling?
But I use Sunday School only as an illustration, chosen because its express objective, making disciples, is so close to the core of what we’re about. Any other area of church life could be mentioned as well.
I don’t see the younger generations flocking in to do what we’ve been doing the way we’ve been doing it. Working that way either assimilates people to the System, losing any innovative edge they might have had, or it dulls them into apathy and runs them off.
If we’re going to make progress, we need to identify some things:
- Why are we here? What is our purpose? We need to be able to answer this kind of question clearly enough that it results in clear consequences both for action – what we ought to be doing – and inaction – what we ought to not do, or stop doing.
- Are there any risks we’re not willing to take?
- How can we become more open to risk taking?
When I see (a) the many people around who need Jesus and (b) the large percentage of our active and committed people who are over age 70 (and who most likely will not be as active and committed 10 years from now), we need to start taking these risks now, before it is too late.
Notes on N.T. Wright, Justification: God’s Plan & Paul’s Vision, Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2009
Chapter 1
The dominance of a particular reading of justification within the reformed tradition has tended to shape the understanding of theologically concerned protestants the past couple of centuries to such a degree that it seems as obvious as the fact that the sun goes around the earth. Just step outside. Look up. Watch the sun move (but don’t stare at it, lest you go blind). Geocentrism is perfectly obvious. Yet dead wrong. Wright says, “The theological equivalent of supposing that the sun goes round the earth is the belief that the whole of Christian truth is all about me and my salvation.” (p.23) He claims, to the contrary, that “God made humans for a purpose: not simply for themselves, not simply so that they could be in relationship with him, but so that through them, as his image-bearers, he could bring his wise, glad, fruitful order to the world… God is rescuing us from the shipwreck of the world, not so that we can sit back and put our feet up in his company, but so that we can be part of his plan to remake the world. We are in orbit around God and his purposes, not the other way around.” (p.23-4)
Wright also uses the image of a jigsaw puzzle, accusing much study of Paul in recent generations of leaving out several important pieces. Cut out the Israel, Eschatology, Holy Spirit and History pieces of the puzzle, and theology – in this case, the doctrine of justification – will look very different.
Several years ago we had an after-school ministry for upper elementary aged children. By the time we stopped it, it looked like a whopping success. Our little small town church would have 40-50 kids, mostly not from our church, show up on Wednesday afternoons. Sounds great, doesn’t it?
But there at the end, it was mostly chaos. Our few volunteers lacked the energy to keep up with the kids. We felt a day was a success if no one had been seriously injured or broken anything. Did the kids learn anything? Hard to tell, since most of our time was spent working on behavior issues.
Our current after school ministries are much smaller. But they are also orderly enough that the kids can get something out of them.
The mistake we made earlier – and are still prone to make – is to think our primary focus should be on ministry to children and youth. In a declining church full of old people, it’s really easy to argue for that position. Despite our lack of younger folks, both locally and denominationally, I think seeing our ministry to children and youth as primary is a mistake. What we should see as primary is a discipling ministry with adults so that these adults will then be the doers of ministry with children and youth. Why?
A first reason to focus on adults is that parents have the primary responsibility to disciple their kids. Sure, it’s rare for parents to do that. We’ll teach them to hunt, fish, cook, drive, and other things of life. But do we teach them them to pray? To read and understand the bible? To share their faith with others? To interpret their lives and encounters with the world in terms of the Kingdom of God? Usually not. At least in many UM churches, many of the adults are too spiritually introverted to feel “comfortable” doing these things. Better leave these really important things to the professionals, i.e., the Sunday School teachers and church staff.
I know the temptation here. We on staff reason that if the parents aren’t doing it, we ought to. It’s too good a thing to leave undone. True. But we’re displacing the parent’s responsibility. They will still have to answer to God.
A second reason to have a primary focus on adults is pragmatic. Parents are the ones who have control over their lives. Sure, their control is relative, but compared to children and youth, their control is immense. If they want to go to worship on Sunday morning, for instance, all an adult has to do is get up on time, get ready and go. In this age when you get to church gatherings in a car, children are at the mercy of their parents. Parents have more power to bring children along than children have to bring parents along.
The major consequence for those of us who are in leadership is that our primary job is not performing functions. We don’t hire people to do what we currently think of as our primary ministries (even if we can’t find anyone who is willing). We hire people to invest in the lives of others who will then become the doers of those ministries. Perhaps once upon a time churches could afford to hire people to do all the ministry that needs to be done. Not any more. The people we hire need to be leaders, catalytic people, who develop others to do ministry.
I’m reading, Dave Browning’s Deliberate Simplicity: How the Church Does More by Doing Less, one of the books I was given for my birthday. I’m only in the second chapter, so this post will be far short of a full review, but rather more of an initial thought.
I’m ambivalent about simplicity. On the plus side, my animosity toward a Weberian routinization of charisma, leads me to think we over do the program and activity side of church. We think, “If we build it, they will come,” or “If we program it, they will show up,” both predicated on the assumption that “If they come, they will become disciples.” I’ve seen lots of activity that was only activity. Simplicity can be part of the antidote to that way of thinking.
On the other hand, my personality type sees complexity everywhere. Browning simplifies his church doctrine to four points:
God and his word are trustworthy.
Christ is the Savior and King.
There is hope for the future and forgiveness for the past.
The church holds the hope of the world in its hands.
If your objective is simplicity, and you’re starting with a blank slate, I suppose these are ok. But why these? Christian doctrine is rooted in history. It’s not just that it happened at particular times in history, but that the doctrines arose as they did because of particular questions and needs arising in particular cultural and historical settings. While it might be the case that these four “simple” doctrines might be a response to the questions of our age, our age flows from what has gone before. The new “simple” church has not appeared form nowhere.
How well does doctrinal simplicity work? Well, if these four statements are all we have, we haven’t said anything about Jesus. Oh, we’ve said that “Christ is Savior and King,” but what doctrine do we have that connects “Jesus” with “Christ?” Our age certainly doesn’t assume that. Plenty of folks today are happy to say that Jesus is A Christ, not the Christ. Maybe the connection comes from doctrine number 1 - “God and his word are trustworthy” – and since we see an equation between Jesus and Christ in the bible, we don’t need to worry about finding it elsewhere. But how do we make the connection between “his word” and the bible? Do we have a doctrine somewhere that identifies “word of God” with the bible? Do we have one that limits it to the bible? Why or why not?
Don’t get me wrong. I understand the desire for doctrinal simplicity. I think if you want doctrinal simplicity Islam is probably the way to go. They have a simple confession, “There is no God but God and Mohammad is his prophet.” You confess that, you’re a Muslim. What could be simpler? No Trinity. No resurrection of Jesus. No complicated relationships between faith & history. They have a simple theory of scripture. The Quran is an exact dictation of what God has said eternally in heaven. The believer’s job is to submit. What could be simpler?
We could also come at this from the back side. In the second chapter Browning references Rick Warren’s theories about church “drivenness.” He (and Browning agrees) says that all churches are driven by something. It could be tradition, personality, program, finances, buildings, events, seekers, or purpose. I bet you know Warren’s pick. I understand that. I even sympathize with it. But again, complexifier that I am, I don’t think it’s so simple.
They suggest that a church driven by tradition is one that majors on “doing what we’ve always done.” I understand the critique here. I’ve seen too many churches that are driven (if we can dignify their institutional conservatism with the term “tradition”) into the organizational hospice by doing what they’ve always done. But what if there’s more to tradition than “doing what we’ve always done?” If you read my book, you know that I’m convinced that God calls us to be willing participants in his ongoing action in history. Through Jesus, we’re part of the same story we read in scripture. We were called to be part of this story a thousand (hundred, fifty – put in a number of your choosing) years ago. Now since this is a story, a drama, the appropriate action on our part might differ from year to year or setting to setting. But as part of the same story, there are clear limits on what can do that will make sense, i.e., constitute a faithful performance of the story.
Or perhaps we can pick on the driven metaphor a bit. What kinds of things are driven? I drive a car. I can drive a lawnmower. I can (in theory) drive a golf ball. The first of these depend on a mechanical metaphor. Mechanical things are driven. All depict what is driven as inanimate objects. Is the church an inanimate object? Is it merely a machine? Or is it just a human institution? If we were Weberians (or Lockeans) we’d say, Sure! It’s just another voluntary association, trying to routinize the charisma in our founders (Jesus, for the primary tradition, folks like Luther, Wesley, Calvin, Wimber, for subsidiary traditions). But if we’re neither Weberians nor Lockeans (or other variants of good moderns), maybe the driven metaphor and its dependence on non-animated-ness falls apart. At best, it seems, we could talk about being Spirit driven. That doesn’t do the work that Purpose (or simple, or program, etc) do though, because the Spirit isn’t reducible to a formula or simple statement.
So how do we decide what to do? That can be described fairly simply: We walk in the Spirit, in a constant relationship of dependence on God, listening and paying attention so that we know what our role is in God’s ongoing story. Pretty simple, isn’t it? Listen, pay attention, obey. What could be simpler? But then maybe these simple things aren’t so simple. Sometimes our appropriate action will be to do something we’ve always done (like, Pray, Worship, Witness, etc.). Sometimes we’ll be doing one of these things in the same way we’ve always done it. Other times we’ll have to step out in faith and do them in some new way, perhaps even a way that challenges us and leaves us crying to God for help.
So Deliberate Simplicity? Again, I like the basic idea, but it depends on what we mean by that and what it entails. We’ll see.
Telling the truth is better than not telling the truth. Generally, at least.
The bible doesn’t teach us to tell the truth in some sort of abstract way. It tells us not to bear false witness. It tells us that if we keep Jesus’ word, we will be his disciples, and if we are his disciples, we will know the truth. It tells us to speak the truth in love. Each of these admonitions is more than an abstract form of objective reporting. Each is set in the context of personal relationships with others more than noetic relationships with objects.
Let’s try this statement: “The economy is in big trouble.” Is that the truth? Is it that which ought to be said? My answer to both is, “It depends on the context.” No, I’m not a relativist, if by “relativist” you mean there is no such thing as the way things are whether I like it or not, or that everything is really only a matter of personal opinion. The statement, “The economy is in big trouble” is falsifiable. If I say it, I can be wrong – or I can be right. But the ways in which I can be wrong are more various than the way I’d be wrong if someone countered, “The economy is not in big trouble.”
Most obviously, my statement would be true in some historical and cultural periods and not true in others. It is relative to a particular time – unless I were trying to make a universal claim that economies in general are in big trouble. But that’s not what I hypothetically said.
But who am I to make such a statement? If I say those words – and I’m a three year old – someone might think I’m cute, but no one will think I know what I’m talking about. If I’m a student – of anything other than economics – hearers may assume that my statement is based on my knowledge of my own economic state or the state of the people around me, or perhaps what I’ve read in the newspapers. If I’m the President, the Chair of the Federal Reserve, or the Secretary of the Treasury, people will give much more credence to my statement. They might even act on it.
What kinds of action might a person perform upon hearing someone say, “The economy is in big trouble?” If it’s a kid saying it, it probably won’t have much effect on action. If an authoritative person makes the claim actions might range from withdrawing from various forms of economic activity, engaging into other forms of economic activity, or perhaps even despair. These activities engagements or withdrawals might either make the economy better or worse. If my object in saying “The economy is in big trouble” is more than uttering the sentence, or reporting what I may take to be a fact, I would surely want to consider the effects of my statement. If I want to drive the economy down (perhaps I’m an enemy of the entity whose economy I’m describing, or I’m waging war on the people currently leading the economy), then I will count a worsening economy resulting from my statement to be a reason to make the statement. If, however, I want the economy to improve, I will count possible negative results as a reason not to make my statement.
We have more complexity as well. If I’m watching a basketball game and see Dirk Nowitski make a shot, I can say, “That was a good shot.” Now, I’m not much of a basketball fan, so no one will care very much for my opinion, but if I say of a missed shot, “That was a good shot,” I would think people might not know what I’m talking about. It wouldn’t take much in the way of expertise or reflection to make such a judgment
“The economy” is much more difficult to assess than a basketball shot. The statistics on which we base our assessment are always of the past and (from what I read) under continual re-assessment. The economy (on whichever level) has a trajectory – sometimes up, sometimes down. When I say something like, “The economy is in big trouble,” I might mean something like, “Given the most recent and widely encompassing data I’ve seen, the assessment of people’s intentions to act, and my theories of how all these data fit together, the economy is in big trouble.”
Our theories of assessment might differ as well. Some folks might think the economy is quite healthy because most people are experiencing an increasing standard of living. Others will see those same figures but look at the relative few who are not doing so well. Others may observe a situation in which everyone in the economy is prospering and growing in wealth, but judge that this is not an unmitigated good because true human flourishing requires trust in God, and they see the economic easy times leading people to independence from God.
I’m not an economist. I’m a pastor by trade. People never ask me, “How is the economy doing?” They do ask, “How is the church doing?” The way I answer that question mirrors the complexity of the similar question about the economy. My answer depends on two broad categories. First, it depends on my theories of ecclesial well-being and how the data those theories tell me are relevant are doing. Second, my answer depends on what effect I think my answer might have on the person asking.
When you ask an average American (in my experience, at least), “How are you doing?” the standard answer is, “Fine.” When you ask the average pastor, “How is your church doing?” it’s pretty common to hear the same kind of answer: “Fine.” We all know this is a polite yet mostly uninformative answer. Even so, it is often an adequate answer, given the purpose of the person inquiring.
When someone asks me, “How is the church doing?” I don’t worry much about accuracy. I’m much more concerned about the effect my answer will have on my hearer(s). I’d like my answer to elicit increased attachment to and connection with the purposes of God, particularly as expressed through the life of the church, and prayer for God’s purposes to be fulfilled. The first desire is most relevant for local participants, the second applicable to a much broader context. My purpose, therefore, is much larger than simply telling something one might identify as “the truth.”
Let’s try a particular answer I gave a person once. “We’re having some cash flow problems lately.” I could have said, “Our finances are in desperate straits since giving has dropped off.” But I didn’t think we were in desperate straits. Sure, someone else may have judged this to be the case, subjective as such an assessment it. But my answer of this sort includes my faith that God will see us through as we seek to live out his kingdom purposes. The statement about cash flow problems is truthful – and objective enough to communicate sufficient meaning. It can also elicit some actions. Some might decide to despair. “Oh, no! The church is really hurting now, just like I am. We will have to make some big cut backs.” Others might decide they need to give more, or to time their giving in a different way. Still others might hear it as a call to prayer. As the leader, my objective is to be a calm presence, demonstrating trust in God regardless of the circumstances, so I’m more likely to encourage the second and third responses.
Another kind of financial answer I’ve given when asked about the church is the equivalent of, “Fine.” But then I go and add comments about God’s blessing and generous people. Those additional comments set the context better than a simple “Fine.”
But church health measured in terms of finances almost entirely misses the point. The most important issues resist quantification: Are people becoming like Jesus? Are they growing in love toward God and neighbor? Are they being set free from sin and brokenness? Sometimes these kinds of events have quantifiable edges that show up in numbers in worship, or professing their faith in Christ. It’s often easier to talk about finances, however, not only because of their quantifiability, but because we tend to do better at them, even in hard times. Personally, I’d rather see people come to faith in Jesus than make the budget. When people ask, “How is the church doing?” I try to point to some of these other features. Sometimes I even turn the question around, “What do you see? How is your walk with Christ? In what ways are you influencing people toward Jesus?”
So – to cut to the chase: Is telling the truth a good thing? It depends on who you are, what you’re telling the truth about, whether the truth about the subject can be shared with some degree of clarity and accuracy and, finally, what you’re trying to accomplish.
One of the books I’m reading on right now is William A. Cohen’s, A Class with Drucker. Here are some good points on “Managing By Walking Around” he shares from Harry K. Jones (interspersed with some of my own comments):
Appear relaxed as you make your rounds. Employees will reflect your feelings and actions.
Leading churches is hard work. While we might have some paid employees, most of the people we work with are volunteers. Especially in today’s economy, there’s a lot of fear and anxiety. While it might be truthful to make lots of worried noises, I’d rather build confidence than reflect fears. Churches have an advantage over businesses since our ultimate confidence is in God, not the economy, not the Fed, not the government. If we trust God and obey God, we’ll be ok – whatever else is happening around us.
Remain open and responsive to questions and concerns.
I think I’m ok at remaining open and responsive, though I’m not always successful at appearing so. Since we’re all in it together, people deserve the respect of being heard.
Observe and listen, and let everyone see you doing it.
People expect leaders to take control. Sure, that happens sometimes. But if that’s all that happens the leadership won’t be happening very long.
Ask for suggestions to improve operations, products, service, sales, etc.
Pastors are the experts. We’ve been to seminary, tons of workshops, have many years of experience. We know what we’re doing. Sometimes. We often lack necessary information or a relevant point of view. If we ask people who may know what we don’t know, we honor them as co-workers in the mission of God.
Catch your employees doing something right and recognize them publicly.
We have so many ways to recognize people – from the pulpit, in newsletters, in group conversations, sending notes, etc. People need encouragement, not only so they’ll have the motivation, but so they’ll know what counts.
I’m a knowledge and information junkie. I read piles of books. If I had the time and money I’d go to a ministry conference every month. I used to go to more conferences and read more ministry books, but I’ve mostly given up on them.
It used to be that I’d read a book or come back from a conference fired up with enthusiasm and new ideas. I’d tell my leaders about what I learned and what we could do and the usual response was, “That’s nice, preacher. Occasionally they’d humor me and play a loing for a little while. They really had no reason to listen, however, except to be nice. They’d been in the church longer than I’d been alive and knew how to do things. Stuff happened before I arrived (or came back from the conference, or read the book) with my my new ideas and ways of doing things. Stuff would continue to happen. Why both learning new things when you alreay know everything you need to know?
But from my perspective they didn’t know all they needed to know. The church continued to decline as they did the same thing over and over again. “If it was good enough in the 1950s, it’s good enough for today.” They refuse to see two things. First, doing what they did in the 1950s isn’t filling the church like it did (if it did) in the 1950s). Second, what they did in the 1950s didn’t produce as much lasting fruit as they thought.
I think of the old William Booth story. He’s gone to a meeting somewhere and a society lady comes up to him. “Mr. Booth, I don’t care for your method of doing evangelism.” He replies, “Madam, I don’t care for your method of not doing evangelism.” If all we need to do is “keep the doors open,” or maintain institutions and buildings, or keep old time members happy, we might be able to get by with doing what we’ve always done. But if we’re out to keep people from running headlong into hell, then we’ll have to do something different. We’ll have to learn some new things.
Brooks describes the change over the past half century:
In the decades since, some social divides, mostly involving ethnicity, have narrowed. But others, mostly involving education, have widened. Today there is a mass educated class. The college educated and non-college educated are likely to live in different towns. They have radically different divorce rates and starkly different ways of raising their children. The non-college educated not only earn less, they smoke more, grow more obese and die sooner.
While Brooks’ focus is on the differences between Obama and Clinton in the presidential race, I think this difference impacts our ministry personnel and deployment as well. For just about the same period Brooks has in view Methodism has increased the educational requirements for clergy. If our culture has divided in two, then our church, mainstream American as it is, may also have become divided in two. But is our pool of pastors from both cultural segments, in proportions anywhere near the proportions found in the broader culture (or even in our churches)? I’d say not.
What are the consequences for ministry if Brooks is right? Here’s what comes to mind:
By maintaining high educational standards we are ensuring that most of our pastors fit into one cultural segment and are at best uncomfortable in the other.
If we want to reach both cultural segments we need to find ways to recruit and train pastors and leaders without de-culturing them. Increasing respect for Local Pastors may be one way to do this.
We need to pay attention to culture – the culture of our congregations and the culture of our pastors. In my experience I’ve had some good fits and some really poor fits. As far as I can tell, culture never came into consideration.
I like being educated. My most effective ministry has been with those who are in that cultural segment. At the same time, I recognize the need for people who are not culturally like me – even in my current appointment – who can join in the ministry so we can reach the people of our area. This implies that when we think of multi-cultural ministry thinking of race and ethnicity alone is not enough.