Is Redemption For Church Boards Possible?

When I work with leadership groups in congregations, I am often in awe of their individual stories. I learn about all kinds of vocation. Mothers with an artistic flair, health care workers who help cure disease and play saxophone, soldiers who give their passion and leadership in between deployments, dead-eye shot farmers, trucker theologians, ice-water veined CEOs, insightful entrepreneurs. God gives them the gifts to do these amazing things. They love God. They love their church. They do whatever they can to help the church to do good ministry.

At least 90% of them cannot state why they are serving in their particular position in church.

It's hard for me to imagine how such talented people with such a strong sense of purpose in other areas of their lives settle for such meandering when it comes to the direction of the church.

Maybe it's because making a decision cuts off other possibilities, possibilities that may hurt another human being, and that's not Christian. Maybe.

Congregations often can't decide what their board should be--a representative group or a leadership group. For the life of me, I can't figure out a good reason why a church board needs more people present (this doesn't mean I am against public meetings, only meetings where so many are required to attend). As if more people in the bureaucracy means more frequent and faithful ministry. I believe a church board is best served with five people (seven at the most), with energy directed toward being transparent about ideas and decisions, rather than creating more structure. Yet, time after time, I find boards with 13, 15, 17, 20+ people on them (probably related to a representation understanding). The meetings are frequent, long and arduous. People serve them out of a sense of duty (which is not a bad thing), but it is misplaced energy. People are busy. Regular, frequent meetings might have been a way to bring people together in the past, but that train already departed. If the goal is fellowship and contact, don't facilitate the gathering under the guise of a business meeting, go for fellowship.

I remember in my early years of ministry, there was a movement to make church boards into small spiritual communities. In some ways, that trend was like putting pearls on a pig. The idea did not address the underlying problem. The structure of the church was not serving joyful ministry. The members ended up serving the structure of the church. Joy departed. Fatigue and discouragement spread. I remember an alert about the pitfalls of building up church boards as opposed to congregational ministry and discipleship, which began my search to convert the countless hours I spent attending time wasting meetings and missing opportunities to spend evening time with my family.

Jesus once said that Sabbath was made for humankind, not the other way around (Mark 2: 23-28). Congregations place too much energy in serving their structures. Serving structures makes the congregation more susceptible to power plays. Congregations may find more joy if they find their joy in ministry as opposed to bureaucratic wrangling. Once congregations can claim where they find joy in ministry, then they can determine what kind of structure their congregation needs.

I find new light when I find a congregation with the courage to find their joy in serving God and release themselves from serving a structure. Jesus did not say that Sabbath was bad, and that is was good when it served abundant life, rather than as a weapon for the powerful. Structure for a church is not bad, but it easily become an idol, and a despised one at that.

What do you see in your congregational boards?

Saturday Sports Y.A.P.: The NBA, NHL, jilted fans, and church entitlement

I've been giving my relationship with professional basketball the silent treatment.

If anything about the National Basketball Association comes across my ears or eyes, I look past it. I read something else. I engage in another activity. I'll read Leviticus if I have to (no offense to Leviticus scholars).

I am a jilted Seattle SuperSonics fan. They were the first team to reward my sports love with a championship in 1979 when I was 9 years old (okay, maybe it wasn't just for me). I went outside and danced in the streets of my subdivision with my neighbors after the big win. The Sonics always had a special place in my heart. After the team departed for Oklahoma in 2008, after the spectacle of failed leadership, of disingenuous deals, greed and politics, I chose the silent treatment in my relationship with the NBA. I refuse to acknowledge their presence. Some folks in Seattle continue to be NBA fans with heavy hearts. Some chose to respond with anger. Others chose to respond with endless analysis of the systems and people involved that produced the departure of NBA basketball from Seattle. My lips are essentially sealed.

Some people I read, watch and listen to have mentioned that the NBA is in a labor negotiation. I don't know the details. I still don't really care. The parties involved couldn't possibly expect any sympathy from the fan base. Look at the activities of the Tea Party and Occupy Wall Street. Look at the unemployment that hasn't been this high in decades. Who wants to read stories about millionaires and billionaires arguing about a game, especially when the integrity meter is at swamp level? If millionaires and billionaires want to argue about something that will be truly beneficial for people, argue until you're blue in the face. Sure, the NBA provides jobs for many people besides the players and management, but they have no voice at all in the negotiations. My caring doesn't mean much in this equation. So be it.

I broke my media engagement with the NBA recently. If there was anyone who was going to do it, it wasn't going to be the local Seattle metro sports or news talking heads. It was going to be Bill Simmons. Simmons has been the one national media figure (I would argue that he acted like a good pastor in many ways) who has consistently delivered emotionally, skillfully, humorously and analytically writing about how Seattle was hosed regarding the Sonics. I found some solace in Simmons' words. He continues being a NBA fan (he's from Boston and lives in LA), but he became a de facto Seattle advocate in the NBA world. Simmons named my pain, listened and legitimized that pain. I was tricked into reading his recent article because I thought it was going to be more about hockey and the NHL, but Bill Simmons is juxtaposing hockey and hoops to illustrate the issues with the NBA as an organization. The NBA has wrongly assumed that their fans will stick by them if they can't move forward in the midst of their problems soon.

No organizational loyalist should expect relational harmony and bliss all the time. Especially in the church. While I look at the NBA, I can't help but think of the church (well, it's what I do). I expect the church to strive for justice and live in the midst of human struggle. I expect there to be a lot of unease, because in the church we deal with life and death (well, it's what we do). What bothers me about conflicts in the church in this day and age on multiple levels is the sense of entitlement leaders of the church have (and I am one of those entitled leaders). We talk about people as commodities--we track worship attendance, baptisms, and demographics of all kinds. In the midst of how we treat each other in the church, we often look at society and blame the masses for not wanting to be part of our cantankerous little club, and that our numbers don't match our bloated sense of entitlement. People find other things to do.

I think about how I haven't watched more than 3 seconds of an NBA game in almost 4 years. I have found other things to do. No one is entitled to my participation or anyone's participation in a community. In church or in sports. That giving of blood, sweat, tears and allegiance comes from a delicate balance of trust and risk. I think "NBA" and "church" can be interchangeable words the equation about trust, risk, and allegiance.

Maybe this trust/risk/allegiance/entitlement equation is one of the reasons I am called to serve the congregation that I do. St. John's Lutheran Church in Lakewood, Washington, had a near-death experience. They nearly had the votes to close in 2011. But they didn't. What I do see after 4 months of building relationships in the congregation is that the sense of entitlement I have seen in many communities of faith over the years is minimized (as far as I can tell). I think they've helped me get over my own sense of entitlement (to a degree). It's not a perfect congregation by any stretch of the imagination, nor do I think I am the perfect pastor to build a renewed congregation. But with a minimized sense of entitlement, we have some trust with which we can build.

Maybe God can still do something with us.

Minefields and opportunities in learning for pastors and congregations

The field of continuing education for pastors and congregations presents both minefields and opportunities for reaching a goal.

What are the minefields:

1. Cost. My congregation was faced with an opportunity for an educational event for both me and 2-4 leaders from the congregation. I won't go into all of variables for attending, only that attending is about as close to being a "need" without actually being a need. The event is semi-annual, with the next event gathering in Houston, Texas. Round-trip airfare, tuition, hotel and other expenses, we were probably looking at $2-4K to make that trip. I pondered the opportunity cost for that trip for several weeks. I go to the training because it's part of my job, and the training does have value. For others, I'm asking individuals in my congregation to invest at least 4 days away from work and family.

2. Efficacy. I have heard some great theologians, teachers, leaders and preachers over the years at educational events. Some presentations were a waste of time. Sometimes this was the speaker's fault (delivery, under prepared), sometimes it was mine (I can have a bad attitude), sometimes it was the planner(s) of the event. Sometimes the responsibility is shared. Some speakers had a profound effect on me during that particular moment--it was something I needed to hear. I didn't necessarily require that person's words would profoundly change my life every day for the next 10 years, only that their insight was part of my overall sustenance and encouragement. It's like a feast. Feasts everyday can lose their meaning over time. Occasionally shared, feasts are the spice of life. I think about this when I reflect on events where I've heard Will Willimon, Sandra Day O'Connor, Martin Marty, and Maya Angelou. These kind of speakers draw people to come to conferences. These are wise people, and their words can be helpful and insightful. However, in my experience, these kinds of events don't necessarily elicit much change in my work. From some learning events I have returned home with some books, a binder full of materials, or have my email inbox filled with Power Points and documents. Rarely do I look at these documents ever again. That may be just as much about my habits as it is about educational philosophy, but I also know that I am not alone in owning a bookshelf loaded with books, boxes and binders holding the dusty hope of personal and organizational renewal.

After attending Unconference11 in May, the minefields of education became clearer to me about how I would invest learning time and resources in the future. Rock star quality speakers are not required (but hey, if they want to come and participate like everyone else, great!).

Where are the opportunities?

Connecting communication technologies (social media, blogs, web) provide key components to any learning and change opportunity. Learning is just as much about relationships as it is information. This is not an educational newsflash--many educational approaches gain leverage through relationships. However, I have observed that in church circles, there's still a lot of weight placed in bringing a big name speaker and implicitly inflicting death by Power Point for an educational event. The problem is, if I want the material I gain to truly take root, there needs to be relationship networks ready and available to take my enthusiasm as a convert and weave it in to the fabric of my life. #Unco11 #Unco12 #chsocm (specific Twitter linked communities) have provided access and friendships with other learners so that I gain support, insight, challenge, and an opportunity to share as well.

As I look at the minefields and opportunities for goal reaching in continuing education for pastors and congregations, I fear testing my own theories. I want to host an educational event. I believe that communication strategies for pastors and congregations are important in their work of sharing the Good News of Jesus. I don't need to host a big top event. It's time to trust the relationships I have built and that God will be present in not only where two or three are gathered, but will gather again as the relationships continue.

Take your pick: movement or institution?

Is it better to be part of a movement or an institution?

Once again, Seth Godin has me thinking about factories. During this time of economic restlessness and ennui, some call for America to return to its industrial revolution days and make things. When America made things, many people had steady paychecks and pensions. Middle-class America worked hard, saved money and many sent their kids to college, trade school, or set their children up for a good life. Institutions felt safe.

The church participated in the world of factories, too. In my Lutheran church world, good children of Northern European immigrants worked hard, canned vegetables and fruit, saved their money, and sent their children to Lutheran colleges (hat tip to Garrison Keillor to help me understand the cultural history of my tradition), which theology and religion departments served as factory feeders for Lutheran seminaries. That world was changing when I attended a Lutheran seminary in the 1990's; we were told that demographics were shifting, and more seminary students were coming from state colleges and universities than every before, quickly approaching 50 percent. I remember there were adjustments to the factory. Paul Sponheim told one of my classes that he used to be able to count on seminary students having a solid background in philosophy, but no more. He adjusted by giving a 2-3 lecture survey of philosophy.  There was some flexibility in the institution, but it was hard.

I became a pastor/product of a Lutheran seminary, prepared to enter other smaller factories including the ELCA Board of Pensions, Thrivent Financial for Lutherans (formerly Aid Association for Lutherans and Lutheran Brotherhood), and a series of congregational factories producing meetings of all kinds, including Women of the ELCA, church councils, Sunday School, and a whole host of committees. The idea was that if I faithfully participated in all of these institutions, I will be assured to have money to live on after my working days are done.

There are still places where the factory/institution of church still exists, and often times it is supported by the culture or demographics. Sometimes the institution is supported by hard working and intelligent leaders. However, in many places (I live in one of these places), Lutheran and other Mainline/Oldline Protestant traditions are part of crumbling institutions; there is no guarantee of security for any pastor or church professional. Some of my colleagues long for the institutional days of security. Some are angry at the culture. Some are angry at other colleagues for making the church what it is today and question their faithfulness or their understanding of theology or tradition.

One of my good friends and colleagues invited me to a discussion about 5 years ago regarding his tradition. He was part of a relatively new tradition, full of passionate people and congregations. People had toiled and worked tirelessly to develop a movement of grace, hospitality and justice. Some people who had been working in the grass roots of the movement were concerned about the continuation of the movement for generations to come. Pensions, health insurance, and constitutions became part of meetings and regular discussion. What was once a movement was becoming an institution. What was once full of energy, passion and care became meetings with minutes and boredom.

What happened?

I am not writing today to decry institutions. I am curious about society and the church of which I am a part, and our over-dependence and skewed expectations of institutions to make life good. I appreciate many institutions in my life that helped provide for me in my life. From government safety nets, to church organizations, to educational systems and to congregations, I am thankful for the generosity of God and the collective work of many. The problem is that institutions exist to self-preserve, and my understanding of following Christ is that our attention is directed toward God and neighbor, and that our institutions, at least in the understanding of Christian faith never exist for the sake of themselves, only that they turn our attention toward God and neighbor--that is a movement.

Are movements and institutions mutually exclusive? Can an institution behave like a movement or beget a movement? After my first season of ministry (about 12 years) studying and being the church as an institution, is it possible to be the church as a movement? Do movement-minded people abandon the institution? Do institution-minded people shun the movements? I do not know the answer to these questions, but I do know that my desire for security sometimes keeps me from challenging myself and others (wouldn't want to risk my pension), so I am willing to uphold the church factory system while I happily attempt to break through it. We don't live in a factory society anymore, but my fellow citizens and I behave like we do. The big problem is, regardless of institution or movement, I am a person of mixed motives and allegiances. But I also know that God does something even with the mixed motive people. Thanks be to God.

Still interpreting a teacher's comment--15 years later

Last month, I started podcasting my sermons (I apologize to any regular followers this week, tech difficulties prevented last Sunday's audio). This has forced me to listen to my recorded voice, which is far from a pleasant experience. Listening to my own voice bring memories from seminary to the surface.

Both of my preaching professors had distinct senses of humor, more so than my other professors. Maybe that's why they were preaching profs in the first place. It wasn't unusual for most of the burgeoning preachers to come in as a completely unformed slab of clay, waiting to be shaped. My teacher loved to offer quips about the art of shaping preachers. He used to say that the end of each academic year, he would travel to his lakeside cabin where it was completely quiet, and stand on his head for a week. He wanted all of the student sermons swimming around in his head to flow out of his brain, and out through his ears into the earth so he could come back in the fall to take in more sermons.

I couldn't ascertain whether my teacher called me Josephus because he had hope for me as a preacher, or that he was trying to make my name a little more interesting (I know the feeling). Toward the end of the term, he looked at me after one of my sermons and said to me, "Josephus, you have a voice that can weld." To this day, I'm not sure how to take that comment. Is my voice powerful? Does my voice bring metal together? Or is my sermon delivery as such that you need protective clothing and not look directly at it, lest you singe your retinas and/or flesh?

Putting sermons further out into the public sphere creates an interesting dynamic. Churches are public places; though as my teacher Pat Keifert has often said, we often treat our worship spaces like family homes rather than public places, much to our detriment. A message seems easier to control in the confines of a family home--but what of mission and the Great Commission?

Putting my sermons even more out in public still feels risky, especially when I'm trying to figure out if this welding voice of mine is a good thing or a bad thing.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Bridgeport Way SW,Lakewood,United States

Staring off into the clouds (of witnesses)

Today I've been working with theory and practice related to sociology of religion. I love this stuff. Almost can't get enough of it. Especially when something happens in the daily activity of ministry, and I visualize a constructing bridge cantilevering over the chasm between academia and ministry. Three hours of thinking, posting, praying, reading. It felt like 15 minutes. I was in a zone, in a place for me where I know the Holy Spirit resides. It doesn't get much better than that for me.

Today was also the day my oldest daughter had her first day of school. I remember watching The Cosby Show as a kid and the celebration Cliff and Claire Huxtable used to have on the first day of school. I was feeling that. I love my daughter, and I will miss her while she is at school in a matter of days. A little lost in the shuffle is my 4 year old, who doesn't start preschool until next week. She kept coming in to talk to me (as she is prone to do) while I was giddy with idea flow, and I was too dismissive of her conversation. I looked to the heavens for a little insight, and I remembered a teacher of mine who spoke to me from the cloud of witnesses (Hebrews 12:1).

The cloud of witnesses are supposed to be the heroes of the faith. This was not my favorite teacher, one that often perturbed me. However, I remembered some wise words I received about how he was once taught that church life and pursuits always came first in ministry, and following that was the most significant regret in a life of ministry. The cloud of witnesses and the Holy Spirit directed me to get on my knees, look my daughter in the eye and say "Let's play a game. How about Candy Land?" I was moved to think about how she moved into the cloud of witnesses. That cloud allowed me to be thankful for the joy in the presence of God, joy in the flow of ideas, and joy in the simple connection of the moment. All in the midst of things that could have just as easily annoyed me. Thanks be to God.

"You know you've arrived when..."

Sermon based on Matthew 16: 13-20 for August 28, 2011

Measuring success is challenging for congregations. On the one hand, models of success in our lives sometimes run in opposition to what we see in the life of Jesus and his teaching. A follower of Jesus named Peter once looked like he had his act together in understanding Jesus, but finds out there's a lot more to learn. Peter finds out that his understanding of Jesus' identity didn't match with where Jesus was going with his life--maybe Peter hadn't "arrived" after all.

Generosity and creativity go hand in hand

What do we think about entrepreneurs in the church?

What does it take to create a faithful and thriving Christian community?

Are "faithful" and "thriving" mutually exclusive?

As I look across the mission field in the Pacific Northwest, knowing that any stewardship campaign I've ever done (in any place in the world) has not been "enough" for anyone involved in the community, why do we continue to attempt to resource ourselves the same way (definition of insanity)? When a leader comes along with a new/unfamiliar way (rooted in a faithful way) of gathering resources, is that methodology viewed with suspicion?

My observation: implicit messages exist all over historically Mainline Protestant traditions that entrepreneurs and their ideas are not welcome. Why? Is this a good thing?

I believe that among God's people there is always the opportunity to teach and encourage generosity. Generosity will indeed inspire and resource mission in the church. However, there's more to mission than generosity. Without creativity taught and encouraged, generosity misses part of the equation. Creativity must be unleashed.

Generosity and creativity go hand in hand.

Checking out a different field--baseball writing

A few days ago, I shared an exploration I took into baseball writing. I auditioned for some work in baseball writing, something only possible because so many professions have flattened their hierarchies. To be a baseball writer a decade ago, I probably would have had to hold a journalism degree or work my way in at the bottom, such as what I did back in the summer of 1989. My summer job then at The Olympian involved data entry, obituary writing, predicting the weather (sort of) and the occasional feature or news article.

Without a journalism degree or much experience, and equipped only with a love of writing and the Mariners, I took a chance at writing for a Seattle Mariners baseball blog. Some of the best sports writing and analysis I've seen comes from these blogs. I still appreciate the beat writers employed by various news outlets, but the bloggers have magnified the quality of baseball writing available to interested fans.

I did not get the "job" after my audition, but I received a good compliment about my writing. I learned a lot from this one week venture into another field. Some of my colleagues in ministry do work in other fields often. Others stay in the confines of the church for their entire careers and lose perspective and connection with what people who sit in worship encounter on a daily basis. My colleague, leader and teacher Ruben Duran says that "the church is not an end in itself, but the means by which God blesses the world." Too often pastors see the church as the end and fail to connect with those outside of the church world. Though my foray into writing on topics other than church was limited, it provided me a reminder of the insular nature of church life. Last time I checked, God loved the world, not only the church.

For all the perspective I gained, at the very least baseball writing for a weekend was fun. If you're not a baseball fan, or don't deal with advanced baseball metrics, the articles won't be of much interest. The one that might be of interest sits at the bottom of the post, since it touches on some theological themes.

A hypothetical Mariners roster move (thoughts on Matt Tuiasosopo)

Is something not quite right with King Felix?
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If you want to learn more about advanced baseball metrics, the library at Fan Graphs gives more information than you ever wanted to know. But it's a start.

Movement toward baseball truth takes more than nerds
By Joe BW Smith

Baseball is joining the topics of religion and politics in my family.

Why?

I am a relatively recent convert to advanced baseball metrics. Now that I concern myself with BABIP and ISO, my family can’t talk about the baseball things we used to talk about (at least I can’t with a straight face). The debates between my father and I have shifted. I fully realized this shift the other night when Dad showed concern about the variables in Felix attaining a win over the Red Sox toward his “record.” I found myself not caring at all about a pitcher win for the first time as a baseball fan. More than not caring, I almost forgot the win for Felix entirely. This gradual shift occurred over 2 years. A pitcher win hadn’t mattered for a long time (thanks, Keith Law), kind of like saying goodbye to a dying grandparent who lives in a nursing home; they are a mere shell of their former selves: they’re not living, they’re existing. Pitcher wins died to me a long time ago, and merely exist in a box score or pitching line. I ignored variables associated with a pitcher win Saturday night (RIP, pitcher wins, we’ll still have an award called Cy Young, remembering your existence). What really concerned me about Felix on Saturday was the amount of line drives the Red Sox lasered all over Safeco. I had to find out about Felix’ line drive rate (it’s the worst of his career). But hey, it looks like Felix will get more wins this year! RIP, indeed.

Since I’m losing the ability to talk about baseball with my father, I have to ask the question:

What is the point of gathering baseball statistics?

I ask this question because I believe the human tendency is do negative things with insider status. Advanced baseball metrics are becoming more mainstream all the time. We know this to be true on the national level with Greinke and Felix winning Cy Young awards while pitching for crappy teams. We know this to be true locally, because it’s not just the beat reporters who help form public discourse on baseball (Geoff Baker, Larry Stone, Ryan Divish (sniff), etc.), but now we can hear Dave Cameron and Jeff Sullivan on the radio, and their words are shared at the ballpark and at the water cooler—“Cust didn’t hit many dingers, but that OBP was just gaudy.” All of this makes me wonder if some of the innovator and early adapter stat gurus are going to cop an attitude like fans of an once edgy band that goes mainstream: “Dude, I only like U2’s EARLY stuff.” Something like, “oh, UZR was sooooooo 2009.”

The point of baseball statistics is to tell the truth about baseball performance. What works against that truth is, baseball is a game that involves relationships. We probably know from some family relationships we’ve observed (maybe even our own), that even though we may have contact or connection with someone, doesn’t mean that we’re interested in truth. The same truth avoidance applies to baseball as it does families. Dan Shaughnessy of the Boston Globe has written about sports and baseball spanning decades. He probably has countless relationships and work hours associated with a particular way of knowing baseball. Over a period of time he learns that the validity of some of his analysis is flawed. Of course he and others are going to be defensive, even downright hostile (his hostility toward advance metrics is well documented). Shaughnessy’s work and his relationships are affected by the changes in gathering statistics. Now the responses between advanced baseball statisticians and older generations of baseball analysts resemble political and theological discussions. You could probably tell stories about what discussions of politics and religion do to your family’s Thanksgiving. Baseball has drifted in that direction in my household. We still maybe able to discuss the Hot Stove League over Thanksgiving Turkey, but I’m not counting on it. There will always be barriers in finding truth—in baseball, politics and religion. It’s about control. Sometimes the carnage just sits there at Thanksgiving dinner (literally and figuratively).

The goal of gathering baseball statistics is truth about baseball performance. Yet, baseball is a game of relationships as well as athletic performance. The pursuit of baseball truth needs more ambassadorships, people who are well versed in the powerful link between relationships, truth and baseball. I think we see portions of that with Dave Cameron’s radio and social media appearances. Social media tools make the relational side of baseball truth gathering more possible. I am in awe of the response and interest in Cameron’s publicity of his leukemia and treatment (I’m sure he’s more in awe than me). In any learning environment, I have learned that relationships make the information more useful. Cameron’s public contact increases his trustworthiness. My exploration into advanced baseball metrics began reading Keith Law chat transcripts—where discussions of literature, language, cooking and FIP converged. Law answered my literature question before he ever answered my baseball questions.

Last Friday night at the Rainier's game, a good friend and I shared a Deschutes IPA. He attends far more live games each spring and summer than me. He has season tickets to his local semi-pro team, and his family gets to know the players over the season. He knows a lot about the game, but there are also many relationships woven in that knowledge. The topic of pitcher wins and run support came up in our conversation as we broke down the Fister trade and watched Luke French get pummeled. It was an opportunity to talk and figure out the truth of baseball performance. It’s one thing to have Jeff Sullivan tell me statistically why Luke French isn’t going to cut it; it’s another to be able to come to that conclusion among friends and family. It takes more than nerds to figure out the truth about baseball, but I’m glad that we have them, and that there are ambassadors among them.

A belated, yet incarnational review of Carol Howard Merritt's "Reframing Hope"

I received a copy of Carol Howard Merritt's book, Reframing Hope, several months ago, soon after it was published. I made a promise I would review the book and share my insights on her work.

I couldn't bring myself to read it. I read the book in fits and starts, never getting beyond the first 20 pages. I like to keep my promises, so the book sat on my desk, mocking me. I met Carol at Unconference11 (#unco11) in May and talked with her a few times. She is gracious and encouraging both in social media circles and in person, and has many great things to share with the church. So I felt worse about not publicly contributing to the conversation about her book.

After a bi-coastal trip for congregational redevelopment last month and racking my brain in considering what I learned, I ripped through the book. I don't do this very often. I tend to take my time with books, pondering stories, philosophies and theologies. After hearing the stories from my colleagues about congregational decline at my training and also the stories of God at work delivering a sense of urgency in struggling communities, a title containing "hope" gained new cache in my vocation.

Why today? Why now?

For ten years until about 8 weeks ago, I served the church as an interim pastor. I brought great passion to my work, giving witness to God amid the vortex of congregational dynamics associated with a congregation in a pastoral leadership gap. I always considered myself a bearer of hope in the interim ministries I served.

What I realized as I read Reframing Hope was that there was a gap in the hope for Christian faith communities I could deliver as an interim pastor. My reasoning is that as an interim pastor, I always had an escape hatch. My time with a congregation averaged about 15 months, or at a retreat in a consultation. I was exhausted (usually in a good way) from the work, but I knew that after the limited time with the congregation, I could leave. I was the pastoral equivalent to how many grandparents function (though this is evolving). They get the grandkids for an afternoon, an overnight, or a weekend or longer, but often there is an end in sight. Grandparents have hope for their grandchildren. But I hear from many grandparents with a wry smile after a long exhale: "they go home." As an interim pastor, I always got to go home. It doesn't mean grandparents or interim pastors aren't passionate about their congregations, but the distance is different.

Now I find myself in a congregation that has significantly struggled in recent years. My wife and I bring our daughters to St. John's Lutheran Church in Lakewood, Washington, and ponder what God might be up to. We're looking for a home in the area. We're thinking about the schools for our daughters. Our relationships in the community take on greater weight. The stories of faith in the congregation take on a new sense of the Spirit for me. In the stories of past and current hurts of the people at St. John's, the Incarnation of God in Christ is palpable.

Reframing Hope is an incarnational book. It is about the presence of God witnessed in the life of congregations. This is not an academic exercise book. However, Reframing Hope calls on some good academic resources to give witness to the movement of God from numerous facets of congregational life as well as Howard Merritt's personal faith and ministry stories. It also gives a historical survey of the church in the American context and perspectives on emerging approaches to faith and congregational formation, from ancient practices to social media, recognizing the imperative of contributions of all God's people to sharing the grace of God in Christ with the world. Reading Reframing Hope probably wouldn't have made as much a difference to me as an interim pastor. It's a solid contribution for any ministry consideration. However, there is a fine line between personal investment and incarnational investment in ministry. I'm learning that, and Reframing Hope is a good reference point for my ongoing discernment.

I believe hope in Carol Howard Merritt's Reframing Hope is about incarnation--God's presence using the multitude of opportunities available to congregations ranging from classical liturgies to social media and beyond. I find this hopeful as I work to partner with the people of St. John's in redeveloping a community of faith. During my recent training in Newark, there were times I was downright fearful. Soon there will be a time I won't be traveling 30 minutes to get home after time at the church. Reframing Hope will continue to be a good conversation facilitator as St. John's movies into God's preferred future.

If you love a congregation (or many) and struggle to find how that congregation recognizes God at work in a changing world, I commend to you Reframing Hope to your ongoing discussion.

Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose--for the church. An ode to Friday Night Lights

Do you think Friday Night Lights is a show about football? Think again. Football is part of the story, but FNL is about relationships. A creative culture makes it happen.

FNL makes its last hurrah as a current television series this Friday night. I'm not sure I've mourned the end of a series as much as this one. I admire the show for its passion and its creative process--and how a culture was created that facilitated and encouraged the creative process. This culture inspires me as a pastor. I hope that I can facilitate such a culture in the congregation and community I serve. Creation (not the "Intelligent Design" brand) is a theological foundation for me.

For a peek into the creative culture of Friday Night Lights, check out this oral history of FNL in Grantland (and if you haven't read Grantland yet, I commend it to you for writing on culture and sport that is moving far ahead of what any periodical is offering on similar topics).

Though the church has a history of inspiring creativity, the history is also long on burying creativity. Several teachers in seminary that I respect taught me an understanding of church based on replication. I took that teaching at face value for awhile. While there are some essentials in the life of the church to be replicated (and these things have been debated since Jesus arose from the dead), I believe much is up for creative interpretation. There are numerous periods in the life of the church where creativity has been squashed for a variety of reasons. This has happened and continues to occur in Mainline Protestant traditions. Even when there are wellsprings of creativity, these wellsprings are quickly institutionalized and become their own turf wars (see "contemporary" worship).

Mainline Protestant traditions were able to spread because of replication (plenty of cookie cutter church architecture out there). What else spreads because of replication? Chain restaurants. One may be able to get survival nutrition from a chain restaurant, but can people thrive? I have great hope to encourage a congregational culture where encouraging creativity is foundational to our relationship with God and one another. To me, this seems to be connected to the Great Commission: Where Jesus said, Go! Make disciples! Baptize! I am with you.

This is a creative directive from Jesus, with encouragement to go with it.

Encouraging creativity is contagious. The motto shared by Coach Taylor with his players and supporters: "Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can't lose." Though Taylor had some "my way or the highway" methodology to coaching--he always took into account the gifts and individual situations of his players (sometimes learning the hard way), which was linked to the creative process of the series. I love thinking about this in a community of faith.

Kyle Chandler, who plays Coach Taylor on FNL, talks about how that creativity spread from the show to a basic interaction in his life:

Chandler: I was back home in Los Angeles and we wanted to put a gate up in our yard. The fella came over and said, "Mr. Chandler, how do you want me to build this?" I said, "I'm not going to tell you how to build this gate. You just look around at what's here, and you build the best gate you can. Be as creative as you want. Take your time, and just give me a good gate." That gate's probably going to stand for 400 years.

Lessons from language learning

A primary lesson of 10 years of interim ministry was learning to maintain balance during times of change and flux. Not that everything around me was going to feel right or that I looked good, rather, that panic was avoided and that community life moved forward toward a goal. Interim ministry and transition is not the place for the perfectionist, whether a pastor or a congregation member. The ability to recover from a setback, mistake or anxiety trigger is paramount to progress. I know this to be true in ministry, athletic endeavors, parenting and now language. I'm leaning toward learning that the importance of recovery is a universal truth.

Here's how my learning has developed recently. I the past month I've taken on learning Korean as an avocation. Some people don't understand why I would invest my time this way. I see a multitude of Korean signs in my congregation's neighborhood, and I see learning language as a path to hospitality and connection. I suppose it would be beneficial for any immigrant to learn English, but I will attempt to meet them a little closer to where they are toward their destination. A favorite writer Keith Law recommended the Pimsleur method as an anchor for language learning.

I've been working with Pimsleur for 2 weeks, and I get more out of Pimsleur than I have in any other language learning process in my life. I've learned some Danish, French, Spanish, Russian, and reading ability in ancient forms of Greek and Hebrew, but my mental adjustments to Korean are different than any of the languages I have learned before. I'm not learning Korean easily, but appreciate the methodology. I began to understand while taking my 8-year-old daughter to speech therapy. Pimsleur was an applied linguistics and French scholar at UCLA and that his approach was similar to the approach of her speech therapist, whose specialty happens to be applied linguistics.

My daughter has auditory processing problems. She hears sounds well, but the movement from sound, to processing the sound, to speech doesn't work well. With regular speech therapy, she is improving. If the conversation doesn't move as planned, my daughter gets frustrated and the conversation breaks down further. What her speech therapist teaches her through a variety of drills and practical approaches is a growing ability to recover when communication inevitably breaks down (this IS universal). This ability is easily taken for granted, though we know in our own lives that communication breaks down frequently. The ability to recover makes a difference. My daughter learns to recover through speech therapy.

I do something similar using the Pimsleur method. Through its series of drills breaking down the sounds of language in many different combinations, I don't necessarily merely focus on memorizing particular words, but through work with sounds that make up language, I find myself less lost. Our speech therapist says these approaches in therapy and language education are similar, and that we are not being equipped to be perfect with language, but rather that we can recover when communication breaks down.

During my years of interim ministry, I have found no greater lesson. The ability to adjust and recover in during communication break down is far more important than learning to do something perfectly. The goal is to connect. The goal is to share a message. The goal is to build relationships. The goal is to learn. I still like to strive toward perfection to some degree, but frustration over not reaching perfection ends many attempts in life to do something good. I encounter this break down daily--in parenting, in building a household, in marriage, in ministry, in health, in vocation. It remains to be seen whether I will be able to live this out in the many facets of my life, but I have the lesson played out regularly during my trips to speech therapy and Korean language sessions.

Place matters--how do your surroundings affect how you see the world?

How does where you live--culture, environment, physical surroundings and their corresponding relationships affect how you look at the world? How does it affect how you look at faith and congregational life?

My passion for these questions took a sabbatical over the past few years. After living for 20 years in the Midwest, I moved with my family to the Seattle metro, where I grew up before taking off for college and early adulthood. I am thankful for the relationships (where I met my wife), mentoring and opportunity in the Midwest (I lived and worked in rural and urban areas in KS, MN, WI, SD and IA). However, there was always some dissonance about my perceptions (particularly of faith and congregational life).

That dissonance runs both ways. I watched it last night at a grant planning meeting, where my Minnesota-native wife raised a particular point to the group. Someone responded, "is that a Midwest (church) thing?" No, Melanie responded, the congregational cultural attribute was part of her Las Vegas congregation, where she served her internship. She hears this kind of question/response loop in her work with congregations. In the particular expression of Lutheranism in the Pacific Northwest, it is common to hear about the church prowess of the Lutheran Holy Land of the Northern Great Plains (MN, ND, SD, IA), with the implication that the Pacific Northwest expression is somehow inferior. It appears from folk culture to church structure to leadership orientation.

One of my colleagues in South Dakota and I discussed this dissonance of place and perception on occasion. I had perceived that sometimes the Midwestern ethos is connected to a moral superiority. I had collected a series of op-ed pieces and letters to the editor that rejected the values of the West Coast and espoused the life in South Dakota. I was attempting to interpret what was behind that understanding. She responded that a Coastal ethos often depicts a cultural superiority. It was hard to disagree with either observation.

In congregational life the diversity of backgrounds is hard to ignore. For every perception of a degree of homogeneity, there are several divergent variables that affect perceptions and relationships. I remember seminary days with scholars and students who espoused some kind of pure faith and theology where culture didn't matter, and that somehow that pure theology could exist in a vacuum. To say there is a pure Christianity apart from culture reeks of gnosticism, where only insiders get to know and understand the "pure" theology.

Today's reflection was inspired by Kansas native Chris Suellentrop and his thoughts on the Kansas City sports landscape. Maybe you're interested in sports and place. If not, what caught my attention was one particular observation about the intersection of place and life, and one that didn't come from a Midwest outsider like me (if you don't want to read the entire article):

"Combine this romantic, backward-looking vision with the traditional Midwestern delusion that you are more American than the rest of the country, and you're left with a strikingly insular self-conception, a sense that you are in a place in righteous decline."--Chris Suellentrop, grantland.com, 7/7/11

That post re-awakened in me the importance of place as a variable to understanding our relationships with God and one another. It made me think about what it means to be a Lutheran Christian in the United States. Who once lived in the Midwest and married someone from the Midwest. Who loves everything about the geography of the Pacific Northwest (reacquainting myself with this love has distracted me from the deeper questions--they're now back). All of these things affect my relationship and vocation. The question is how? What does it mean?

Place matters. For a person of faith, place matters. The Bible features several stories and reflection about the land--think about the Promised Land. Even buildings receive special billing--the Bible features several stories about building programs. There is lament and hope intertwined with building destruction and reconstruction, and all that goes into the construction and recognition of place.

The question for me about the intersection between place and life is not that it exists, but how and why? What do you think?

Underrated in Congregational Life: Language Learning

Though I deeply appreciate the theological writings and ideas of Martin Luther, one of the things that inspires me most about a connection to the legacy of Luther is translation of the biblical witness into the language of the people. Sometimes I imagine the work of Bible translators, awestruck. I am thankful for Luther's pioneering translation work.

I love languages of all kinds. I enjoy Danish and French. I made an academic college try at Russian. I am attempting to learn Korean. I am intrigued by professional and social group lingo. I admire the dexterity in how the English language evolves. I don't like to feel foolish while I'm learning these manners of speaking, so sometimes I avoid them. It's not that I don't have the ability to learn the language, but the fear throws up road blocks. The challenge of connecting with my family and friends is stark enough; throw in the cultural differences, and I am tempted to say "why bother?" So I often give up.

Language is dynamic. We learn language often out of love for the other. Grandparents learn to use Facebook because they want to communicate with their grandchildren. An entrepreneur learns programming code because of their love for conveying a message. An adoptive parent learns Mandarin so they can know the more deeply the culture of origin of their daughter.

Here's why I think language learning is underrated in congregational life. Though we often engage in a world of dynamic language change, for some reason in congregational life, learning a new language is viewed with suspicion, or outright disdain. I think part of this is the fear and foolish factor, which I believe is modified by the deep emotional attachment to faith and congregational life. It hurts more to look foolish in matters of faith. It hurts more to look foolish in a place where we have so many and emotions and time invested in the milestones of life.

Another factor in language learning involves the theological and cultural roots of our understanding of God and change.

1. There is a very strong theological and cultural understanding that God does not change, therefore change in congregational language is considered suspect.

2. At attempt to keep language the same in congregational life may also reflect a fortress mentality. In the above link, I reference Pat Keifert, a theologian who has taught about how congregations are resistant to language change (and change in general) because the church was a "change-free zone" in the midst of a world full of change.

The variables in language learning accelerate rapidly in the Information Age, and many church leaders have rightly asked the question of stewardship of abundant information and how to prioritize usage. This burgeoning reality adds another wrinkle into how language learning choices have become more complex for congregations. Where does that conversation about language learning start? One of my favorite biblical questions from the Parable of the Good Samaritan. "Who is my neighbor?" The two things I have noticed as I drive into work: The US Military presence, and Korean language signage. I have a lot of language to learn from both communities. I cannot afford to underrate language learning anymore.

Overrated in Congregational Life: The "Summer Slump Letter"

Some people mark the changing of the seasons by holidays. Some people don't mark the changing of seasons with terms like solstice and equinox, but Memorial Day weekend, the 4th of July, Labor Day, and Easter.

Congregations can mark the changing of the seasons from the giving messages they receive via email or snail mail. You know it's autumn when you receive a letter asking for a pledge in the coming year. You know it's winter when you receive a letter to remind you of your last opportunity to make a tax-deductible donation for the fiscal/tax year. You know summer has arrived when you receive a reminder letter that congregational giving is often down during the summer months and that budget strains are acute during that time. Kennon Callahan called this the "Summer Slump Letter." Forget keeping a calendar or looking at the weather. Look at your mailbox or inbox. You'll know what season it is then. I've seen several Summer Slump letters already this summer. They're a little early this year--the economy must be bad. Slap a Bible verse or a prayer on the end of the plea, mark a season, proclaim deficit awareness, and spiritualize it. There you have the Summer Slump letter.

For many congregations, tight budgets are a way of life. Even for congregations flush with cash from a bequest or a land deal, I have yet to encounter a congregation that doesn't agonize over financial resources in some way (I see congregations flush with cash who fight more than congregations with tight budgets, but that is another story).

After seeing numerous cycles of letters and emails sent to congregational members over the years, congregational coffers should be full of donations, deeply moved and inspired by the letters they receive. These letters have probably been written for several decades. Have they made a difference (please let me know if they have)?

Why bother writing these letters?

Congregational leadership wrangles over the budget during most monthly meetings, if not all of them. Letters send a message that the leadership is not ignoring the tight budget, but doing SOMETHING. It usually makes them feel better, not to mention puffing up their own sense of accomplishment if they are giving themselves. Sometimes congregational leadership will go so far as to scold the congregational members for not giving. How well does scolding go (please let me know if you have a scolding success story)?

Callahan suggests that if there is a summer slump time in the congregation that it has to be planned for throughout the year, not addressed as a surprise occurrence each year. What might be a better approach to addressing a giving trend that is lower during the summer months?

1. Rarely will summer giving dips be adequately addressed during the actual summer months. These trends have to be addressed during the budgeting process, not when resource issues reach panic levels.

2. Some assumptions about congregational giving must be released. New members do not mean more money for a congregation, in fact, new members will probably mean resources will become even more strained. The new member + new member = more money fallacy is rooted in a notion that a congregation is the center of a given culture. With that in mind consider the next point.

3. Giving is based on a relationship. My late grandmother gave to ministries when she connected with the television preacher or Bible study leader. I didn't necessarily like how or to whom she gave, but the television ministry connected with her faithfully and regularly, more than even her own family. Even with a television, a kind of personal connection is made. How much better a connection is made when congregational leaders facilitate intentional, face to face communication with a listening posture? With a letter, nothing is learned about the recipient. A face to face meeting, though labor and time intensive, provides learning beyond measure. Face to face meetings are opportunities to learn about what God is doing through that person and how that activity can be shared with the body of Christ. Face to face communication is a high risk, high reward venture.

I invite you to share your wisdom about summer slumps or any other giving season issues you would like to discuss.

Do you know what season it is in your congregation? Check your inbox or mailbox--the overrated Summer Slump letter may be there.

Underrated in Congregational Life: Accountability

Accountability is a loaded term for congregations, for both pastors and members.

It's hard to serve in a congregation in any capacity because it can feel like every member is a boss. However, ministries can go on for multiple years while accomplishing little. My wife and I have often discussed the concept that pastors (and other ministry professionals) work in a high-expectation, low-structure positions. I would argue that this is the nature of congregational life. Expectations are high, but the structure of meeting those expectations often lacks cohesiveness. People in ministry may feel accountable, but the accountability in ministry is often rooted in personal preferences as opposed to shared principles. Therefore, I believe accountability in congregational life is underrated.

Peter Steinke often says about congregations that they "tolerate too much bad behavior in the name Jesus." This applies to the entire congregation. Bad behavior in many forms is often tolerated it because supposedly it's the "Christian" thing to do. Bad behavior can take on many forms--verbal, sexual and spiritual abuse, underperformance, insubordination, destructive communication, sabotage, etc. To set up accountability structures can seem too corporate, and not becoming of an intimate family (I have concerns about the image of family in congregational life, but that's for another post). Even families have boundaries for appropriate behavior. Congregations and ministry professionals have a fear of accountability, because it can be risky for relationships in the short term, but in the long term, it allows each member of the Body of Christ the space to thrive.

Some congregations lack shared accountability. A pastor or ministry professional may act in an authoritarian fashion. A congregational leadership may deliver a list of expectations to a ministry leader without flexibility. Once a congregation moves toward accountability, a shared approach will provide stronger paths to communication, because boundaries need to be renegotiated from time to time.

Accountability is underrated because many congregations are often beholden to preferences and tolerant of bad behavior from pastors and congregation members alike. I hope that congregations can work together toward a shared accountability. It is a move with the risk.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Mckinley Ave,Tacoma,United States

Overrated in Congregational Life: Politics, Relationships and Moving Forward with Church Office Space

Today's guest blogger, Dr. Kirk Jeffery is a church growth consultant. He works with all sizes of congregations. He spent fifteen years in local parish ministry as an Elder in The United Methodist Church. He did his doctoral work at Drew University in Madison, New Jersey in Postmodern Ecclesiology. He also roasts and sells coffee. www.kirkjeffery.com. Follow Kirk on Twitter @KirkJeffery.

Joe Smith, in a related blog post, suggested that there is too much infrastructure surrounding a pastor’s study, and that it really has little place in ministry in the twenty-first century. I completely agree.

The pastor’s study was envisioned for a time past, when people flocked to the church, when clergy were among the best educated in the community, when the pastor was required to tote around a vast library of books and those books contained the basis for the answers the congregation and the broader community were seeking.

Today the pastor’s study seems to be more a limiting feature of ministry than an empowering one. If I had my way, I would eliminate it from the church entirely, as an outmoded, non-useful space. It seems that it serves only to have a space where a small group of parishioners can keep a watchful eye on what the pastor is up to—for if our pastor is in his/her office, then we know that he/she is working. Ug. The thought that true ministry happens within the confines of the four walls of the pastor’s study makes me sick.

However, let me caution any would-be study-tossers, especially if you are in your first five years of ministry in your local context. Let me share some valuable first-hand insights on office space.

I once served a parish that had rented out the majority of the church to a daycare facility which used the space Monday-Friday from 6:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. When I first got there, there was a lot of consternation by folks that felt that they had lost their space. The women’s group couldn’t use the space for their monthly mid-day meeting. It was difficult to schedule weekly mid-day Bible studies. Committees couldn’t meet until 7:00 p.m. at the earliest. The daycare always left the space a mess.

I thought I had a great solution… We would turn the pastor’s study into a dedicated classroom and mid-day meeting space. The pastor’s study was not a great space for a pastor anyway (it had sexual safety issues—no windows). I would work from home and the local coffee shop. I would meet with folks in their homes, in the coffee bars, in the beer bars! With the advent of cell phones, free internet, and my laptop computer, I felt that ministry could, and should take place anywhere. And it did.

The problem that I encountered was that I had not been there long enough to build up trust. For the twelve people who regularly popped into the church and office to do their various business and mission, it was a huge issue that I wasn’t where they could see me. And if they couldn’t see me, I obviously wasn’t working.

The key to being able to move out of the pastor’s study is trust. As pastor, you will have to build enough trust within the congregation to let them let you move out of the pastor’s study and into the community. This process is not measured in months, but rather two to five years of hard, office, pencil pushing work. Once they know that you actually work, moving out of the office will not be such a big deal. But they have to trust you first.

If you decide that you really want to move out, I suggest that you take these steps:

1) Talk with the power brokers in the church, the ones who nod yes and it happens and who shake their head no and it doesn’t. Explain to them the vision, the reason, the hopes, the dreams…. Remind them (gently) that the church is not an end in itself, but a means to an end—to create new disciples. As pastor, you are most effective out in the community building relationships. No one outside the formed community is wandering into the church anymore, unless they are seeking gas or rent money.
2) Make the move slowly. Advertise that you will be at the coffee bar from 8:30-10:30 on Tuesday mornings. Make sure you are there! If it is received with good faith, then you can progress—slowly add time away from the office and in the communty. Turtle pace is key. Don’t do too much, too quickly. You spent a lot of time building the trust by keeping lots of office hours. It only takes a couple of missteps to lose it all.
3) Keep the gossipers and the key leaders informed. Talk to them about the conversations you are having. Tell them some stories. Even if these new folks aren’t coming to church, if you can tell the stories, then they will allow you even more freedom to be in a space other than your study.
4) Don’t move your library out of the pastor’s study until someone else lays clam to, “your” space. You have claimed it, the congregation has given it to you. If you only spend one hour in there, on Sunday mornings, still claim it—until it is needed for something else.
5) After some time, begin to work to develop another, “need” for your space. If you are not using it, someone else should. Who might use that space? What mission, what ministry, what other staff person needs that space more than you?

Working with established churches to change is difficult and time consuming work. But they are willing to change if you are willing to help them change slowly. No matter how big or how small your congregation, you have to think of your congregation as a aircraft carrier rather than a speedboat. The turns have to be planned months and years in advance, otherwise they will never happen.

Classic Sports Discourse, Revisited for the Church

I am currently working on a series of blog posts in the coming week or two using a framework often used in sports, but I am trying it with the life of the church. What is overrated? What is underrated? Sports people in radio and in the business attempt to stay away from overvalued athletes (unless you're the New York Yankees or Boston Red Sox) and maximize undervalued athletes. The church should probably stay away from looking at people and ministries as commodities, yet it is important to understand the dynamics of public discourse and what receives our attention.

What do you think? When it comes to the life of the church: what is overrated? What is underrated?

Here are the examples I am currently addressing in my thoughts that will turn into blog posts in the series:

Overrated: Office space. Mission statements.
Underrated: Grace. Accountability.

I would not pin this framework on Jesus' thought processes and ministry. However, Jesus is doing something to this effect during the "blessings and woes" teaching in Luke 6. It's overrated to be full and rich. It's underrated to be excluded and hated because of an association with Jesus. It's underrated to be hungry and weeping. What do these statements mean? What does it say about human aspiration? What does it say about who we value as people? The underrated/overrated framework is a discussion piece about where we put our attention in public and congregational discourse.

If you are interested in writing a guest blog post, let me know. Or, if you have some input on possible topics, let me know! What do you think?

Imagining small church mission

What does it mean to be part of a small church?

This week, I began service as the pastor of St. John's Lutheran Church in Lakewood, Washington. St. John's is a gathering of approximately 40 people in Sunday morning worship. By almost any definition, St. John's is a small church. My small church experience is a small portion of my life with congregations.

1. I served an interim ministry at New Life Lutheran Church in Sergeant Bluff, Iowa, a community at the time of about 40 people in worship.
2. I served an interim ministry at a three-point parish in Lyman County, South Dakota. One of the congregations was distinctly small in Kennebec, the congregations in Vivian and Presho could be large enough to classify differently.

From experience, observation and study, here are the small church thoughts in my mind.  I am taking an inventory of small church experiences. It should also be noted that as an interim pastor, I never lived in a small church community. There was always an understanding that I had relational access to people's lives, yet remained an outsider.

Congregational size is not the only variable of consequence. Region, denomination, judicatory, education and other variables can enter the discussion, but the focus of this reflection involves what I have gathered about small churches.

1. Often the small church is described with a sense of "plight." The small church is depicted in church circles as suffering or in disarray. Both seem to be associated with suburban migration of the mid- to late- 20th century; a migration that dwindled the size of both urban and rural congregations. The plight is that resources to fund urban or rural congregations fades as people leave, much like other urban and rural social institutions. Small churches can still thrive, I believe, but it also depends on the shared definition of what thriving means.

2. Power in small congregations must flow through the matriarchs and/or patriarchs of the congregation. Several decades ago, Arlin Rothauge published a short book on congregational size dynamics and named the 0-50 worship attendance congregation as a "family" church. Rothauge's observations have been parsed in congregations and church leadership circles for the better part of three decades. In this size of congregation, the members are often highly invested and see pastors come and go for many different reasons (see #3).

3. Pastoral leadership in small congregations often exists in a state of flux. Small congregations often cannot afford a full-time pastor, or an experienced pastor, because the salary levels cannot support clergy with a family living at home, or a pastor carrying large amounts of student loan debt. With pastors coming and going quickly, congregations develop a pattern of behavior where they can "wait out" the pastor and all of that particular pastor's ideas for ministry if they don't care for them.

4. In a small congregation, everyone knows everyone else. So the proverb goes--but I think this is a bit of a myth or euphemism for an intimacy that cannot be assumed. There may be a higher degree of familiarity among members/worshiper in small congregations than large congregations, but that does not necessarily reflect a depth of relationship.

5. What a small church needs is to replicate what is done at a large congregation. Reading a favorite blog, Church Marketing Sucks (CMS), I was reminded of how easily the replication notion is perpetuated. Large churches have the resources to share their experience, wisdom and knowledge with others. They share that information with pastors and congregations, and the small congregations often end up feeling inferior about what God is doing among them. As someone who has served both small and large congregations, this is not intentional, but it still goes on. Frustration continues to mount about good leadership resources for small congregations. The blog post from CMS reminded me about small-large congregation leadership dynamic.

In the end, what seems to matter is that people in a congregation can imagine a unique sense of mission independent of the aforementioned factors. This does not mean God's mission is lived in a vacuum. On the contrary, I think the question related to the Parable of the Good Samaritan is operative, "And who is my neighbor?" We need to know something about our neighbor in order to share good news in Christ.

Who is God? What is God doing? Who is my neighbor? I still have much to learn about small churches and the small church I am serving, but I need to remember these questions, and I look forward to addressing these questions with people in the community.

La pièce de résistance

How are we humans supposed to respond to resistance?

A. Fight through it.
B. Embrace it.
C. Avoid it.
D. Persuade it.

Does it matter who or what the resistance is? Sometimes the resistance is looking right at me in the mirror. Other times the resistance is a well-organized part of an institution. Other times the resistance is diffuse, yet omnipresent

Seth Godin invests a significant portion of his book Linchpin in the concept of "the resistance." Godin associates this concept with the portion of our brain that seeks comfort at all costs--survival mode or the status quo. In sociological terms, the resistance resembles a drive in organizations toward homeostasis--a calm center. It doesn't matter if the system is in decay, the resistance wants familiarity and peace.

In reading Linchpin, it's hard not think of Jesus' telling of The Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30). Why do some of the servants/slaves take risks where one does not? What variables are present?

Explicit variables:
+Degree of fear
+Willingness to take risk
+Ability

Implicit variables:
+Knowledge of the market
+Strength of relationships

The thread linking all of these variables is the resistance. There are theological terms that serve in relationship to the resistance, some might call it sin. Lutherans might call it "old Adam (others?)."

The interesting proposition is that the Parable of the Talents, and numerous authors, preachers, journalists, columnists and psychologists place all kinds of effort into addressing the resistance. Through shame, finger pointing, fear mongering, brain analysis and story telling (remember "Who Moved My Cheese?), the resistance receives a lot of attention.

These days, I'm leaning toward embracing resistance. According to Matthew, avoidance never works in the long term, and leads to weeping and gnashing of teeth. I will invest more time in the Parable of the Talents and Linchpin in my first year at St. John's Lutheran Church because the resistance is what confounds congregations and pastors and causes them to bury their talents in a hole, much like in The Parable. It doesn't take much searching among sister congregations and colleagues to see and hear weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Location:Bridgeport Way SW,Tacoma,United States