During our exile we did a lot of soul searching. We asked tons of questions. We visited other churches. We read books—on leadership and church growth. We were scouring the landscape of our Christian subculture for a new way to approach “doing church.”
I wish I could tell you that the tornado provided us with a complete paradigm shift. It didn’t. Look, we learned a lot. It was an incredible leap of faith to more than double the square footage of the previous facility. It took a real miracle to emerge 20 months later debt free. (The fundraising “experts” told us it was impossible.) In our wildest dreams we couldn’t have imagined growing in numbers while in the wilderness. But in the end, we opted for…let’s call it continuity.
It’s not like we didn’t make some changes; we did. We updated our “look.” We did away with pews and hymnals. But the changes we made—to our facility and to our focus—were more about doing what we were already doing, only better. That and, we made a determined effort to center on our strengths: especially excelling at hospitality, preaching, and music.
Finally, the toil and the perseverance paid off. We were going back. The first service in the new building was electric. There were people everywhere. It was so promising that we started a second Sunday morning service the next week. In a very short period of time we doubled in numbers.
So the legend and the legacy of the tornado were stated as “the best thing that had ever happened.” And Carbondale became the phoenix that arose from the ashes (or the piles of twisted metal as it were).
I don’t mean to sound cynical or to take away from the success that we had. But after a bunch of years of working in churches, and after what I had read and what we had experienced, it seemed to me that church growth was more about good marketing to and recycling of dissatisfied “saints.” In fact, we benefited greatly from the demise or decline of some other churches. That was good timing. I mean you hate to grow for that reason, but we didn’t turn them away.
I didn’t know another option, but my perspective would be forever marred by this. It was obvious that the Church—the universal, big “C” Church—was not really growing at all. At least not in Tulsa. And if Tulsa was any indication, not in America either. But our church—little “c” church—was. I became less and less okay with that. I didn’t know what to do about it, but the seeds of discontent, disillusionment, and deconstruction were already planted in my little brain.
I wish I could tell you that the tornado provided us with a complete paradigm shift. It didn’t. Look, we learned a lot. It was an incredible leap of faith to more than double the square footage of the previous facility. It took a real miracle to emerge 20 months later debt free. (The fundraising “experts” told us it was impossible.) In our wildest dreams we couldn’t have imagined growing in numbers while in the wilderness. But in the end, we opted for…let’s call it continuity.
It’s not like we didn’t make some changes; we did. We updated our “look.” We did away with pews and hymnals. But the changes we made—to our facility and to our focus—were more about doing what we were already doing, only better. That and, we made a determined effort to center on our strengths: especially excelling at hospitality, preaching, and music.
Finally, the toil and the perseverance paid off. We were going back. The first service in the new building was electric. There were people everywhere. It was so promising that we started a second Sunday morning service the next week. In a very short period of time we doubled in numbers.
So the legend and the legacy of the tornado were stated as “the best thing that had ever happened.” And Carbondale became the phoenix that arose from the ashes (or the piles of twisted metal as it were).
I don’t mean to sound cynical or to take away from the success that we had. But after a bunch of years of working in churches, and after what I had read and what we had experienced, it seemed to me that church growth was more about good marketing to and recycling of dissatisfied “saints.” In fact, we benefited greatly from the demise or decline of some other churches. That was good timing. I mean you hate to grow for that reason, but we didn’t turn them away.
I didn’t know another option, but my perspective would be forever marred by this. It was obvious that the Church—the universal, big “C” Church—was not really growing at all. At least not in Tulsa. And if Tulsa was any indication, not in America either. But our church—little “c” church—was. I became less and less okay with that. I didn’t know what to do about it, but the seeds of discontent, disillusionment, and deconstruction were already planted in my little brain.
4 comments:
Is this when you read unChristian?
So, you changed your image and your facility, but not your purpose. Your little c church was only physically transformed. The new look and feel attracted newcomers, but it had no lasting impact on the role of the big c church in general.
Luke,
I wish. I had no idea that there was another way. I hadn't read anything so subversive. It was all "bestselling" church growth drivel.
Kristi,
Exactly. However, I was already tiring of "church as usual."
Thank goodness you had a desire for more. I have benefitted from that! So have many others!
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