“Send” the Indigenous, Part 3

So, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. The only reason I have used the word “send” is because it is such an important word in “Christianese” that most of us understand with regard to missions or with fulfilling the Great Commission.

*Warning! Rabbit trail!*: Along with the word “go.” We understand what is meant by “go” as well as “send.” However, both words are loaded—like so many words used in the subculture of Christianity in America.

Let’s think of some other examples: “Evangelical.” Do people who are in the church have any idea what a nasty word this is to the people on the outside? “Missionary.” Here’s a word that people outside our subculture think of as an invasion force. To them, missionaries destroy the culture and the traditions of entire civilizations, turning the people into Americanized Christian clones. (That’s not a good thing to them, by the way.) Every day the Prime Directive is being violated by well-meaning Christians. *And the rabbit trail ends abruptly before it gets out of hand…*

Okay, back to the theme. The word that is better—the one that I believe we are called to do for the “Next Generation” (another Star Trek reference)—is “empower.”

Empower the indigenous.

Some of you are asking, “Where do Bible school and Seminary fit into the mix?” And I would respond, “Where do we ‘send’ the indigenous to learn the ‘God stuff’ without overwhelming them with the ‘man stuff’?” When you find that place, you let me know, will you?

In the meantime I think we have to mentor while being “reverse mentored.” Treating them and accepting them as equals, we need to come along side the next leaders and allow them to develop their own expressions with very broad, spandex-like boundaries.

If we can control ourselves and give the Holy Spirit room to do his work, I believe that the Church of the future will naturally, organically become more like the New Testament church than it has been since the first century.

“Send” the Indigenous, Part 2

As Westerners, we are at a disadvantage when it comes to scripture. We start at a place that is far away from the Eastern minds of both the writers and the recipients. The differences in culture and cognitive style are considerable. At best, Westerners are Joe Friday (“Just the facts, ma’am…”), and Easterners are Mr. Miyagi (“First learn stand, then learn fly.”). We (Westerners) analyze the life out of the stories, the parables, and the object lessons that were a part of Jesus’ stock-in-trade. So much so that the real meaning is often lost. Take the invitation he spoke to some to follow him as an example.

To some fishermen, he said, “Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.” Wow! Have we gotten a lot of mileage out of that one! We have created songs and an entire evangelism strategy out of it.

But the truth is that Jesus never intended this to be a lesson of any kind. It was a play on words. It was clever. And it was aimed specifically at the fishermen he was recruiting. That’s all. But we (in our Western minds) have taken that one line and turned it into a personal calling and an evangelism plan of attack. And we have a whole linguistic subculture that revolves around it.

We use fishing words like “bait”, “hook”, “catch”, and “capture.” We talk about “reeling them in” or “wearing them down.” Worst of all, we even refer to the “one that got away.” (Is it merely coincidental that evangelists and fishermen are both thought of as people who stretch the truth?)

And how do you think the victims of such an approach feel? They are the ones with baited hooks in their mouths. Do you think they aren’t savvy enough to figure that out? Believe me, people are plenty savvy today. They can spot someone with an agenda a mile away. If you haven’t tried, you should ask someone who has been there.

Now, although Jesus spoke the words that have given us our most prevalent evangelism strategy, it is our left-brained, systematic, Western mind set that has failed us in our understanding of what he really intended. To do that we need to look at the example he set forth instead of that one line. And what was his example?

Incarnation.

He became one of us. Therefore, if he had been trying to catch fish he wouldn’t have bought a rod and reel. He would have become a fish. But over and above all of that, Jesus’ whole approach to people wasn’t at all like the way Christians approach non-Christians. Jesus approached people like a friend would, not like someone who was looking to get a notch on his gun belt. So it matters how we “send.”

“Send” the Indigenous, Part 1

The church in which I grew up has become one of the largest missionary sending organizations the world has ever known. It was conceived and birthed in the heat of passion for going and sending based on the aforementioned Great Commission. But if there is one thing we have learned, it is that why and how one is sent is as critical as being sent in the first place.

What we have learned is that sometimes the worst thing that can happen to a country, a culture, or a people group is the invasion of what I’ll call fanatical Christian salvation guerillas. Because, the one and only message they have is salvation. So they storm the country with medical teams, food supplies, or relief efforts, in an attempt to gain an attentive ear for their message by providing for needs. Now, providing for needs isn’t a bad thing. That is very much a Kingdom value taught by Jesus. But not when the real purpose is bait and switch.

When physical needs are met for the sole purpose of creating a captive audience for a quick presentation of the Gospel, that is bait and switch. And, it doesn’t just happen in foreign countries either. It also happens in churches every week right here in the good old US of A.

Youth are baited with pizza, extreme games, celebrity guests, and fancy hangouts. Adults are baited with promises of wealth, beauty, and success, not to mention a break from their children for at least an hour. Add on top of that promises of discipleship training for every age group (as though that was supposed to be the job of the church and not the disciple).

Worse than that, the needy in our cities are promised food in exchange for a church service which they have to attend. “Free clothing” comes with a secret price tag—the cost of which is measured in enduring bad music and a reductionist salvation message. In either situation—the fancy church or the skid row mission—the problem is the same. Here it is: What you win them with, you win them to—whether it’s pizza, prosperity, or free clothes.

Now, I know that many churches and Christian organizations do wonderful things for people with no strings attached. Those groups have my compliments. But there are just as many, if not more, who use this as a “strategy.”

Last Sunday afternoon, I went to a downtown park where some friends of mine were doing a cook out for our homeless friends. There were at least 60 of us in the park that day. And although this was a first (the cookout), it was not the first time these men, women, and children had fed, loved on, and talked to many of these people. They called each other by name, and were so genuinely glad to see one another. And the food and the hugs and the football and the croquet were all paid for and given away unconditionally.

Unfortunately, some there that day who didn’t know my friends were waiting for the other shoe to drop. So when two guys got out their guitars to play some jazz and folk music, one man was overheard to say, “Uh-oh! They’re gettin’ out the guitars. Here comes the Jesus message…”

Bait and switch.

Now my friends and I had no intentions of doing anything more than feeding, hugging, and spending some time with them. But they were so conditioned to the schemes and methods they had seen so many times before that they were certain we were getting ready to “lay some Jesus on them.”

Some of my other friends who are missionaries in Asia have a name for people who convert in one of these bait and switch situations. They call them “rice Christians.” Rice Christians (whether in Asia or South Tulsa) aren’t won to Jesus, they are won to: fill-in-the-bait.

Now, so far you’re wondering how this applies to our subject of “Sending the Indigenous.” I guess what I’m wondering in my head and wandering through with the above is if we are ready to entrust the Holy Spirit with the next step. If we can trust Him to draw or to persuade the indigenous to follow him without our coercion or manipulation, are we ready to allow Him to help them to contextualize the truths of scripture for their own culture without our messing it up for them?

Before we can talk about sending the indigenous to reach their own, we have to answer the question: Are we ready to let them build their own versions of ecclesiology (church) and maybe even soteriology (salvation) that may or may not resemble our versions?

Let the Spirit Do the Persuading

I mentioned in an earlier chapter that I had worked for a church in Atlanta, Georgia during the late 80’s. One Christmas Eve we decided that we should do a candlelight, carol, and communion service. However, none of us had ever done a candle lighting service before. So, unfortunately we didn’t know the rules. But, how hard can it be, right?

We bought those special little candles that come with the cardboard drip protectors. But the pastor thought the staff ought to have “bigger candles” (if you know what I mean) than everyone else, because we were the ones who were going to be lighting everyone else’s candles. It was a symbolic expression of our superiority over the laity or something, I don’t know. Anyway, this was the plan.

I don’t remember if we had drip protectors or not, but it wouldn’t have mattered. We didn’t do it right. We flitted around lighting the congregation’s candles from our big ones, and since it was dark, we had no idea the pain we were inflicting or the mess we were making. But after Christmas our mistakes saw the light of day, and we were in trouble.

I don’t remember if it was a weekly staff meeting or a special meeting or if the word was just spread around among us but, however we got the word, the word was: Never again. I guess people got burned by our wax and we got it on people’s clothes. But the worst thing was we got wax all over the carpet. Do you realize how hard it is to get wax out of carpet? Not good. Turns out we broke all the rules.

See, here’s the way it’s supposed to work. Once a single candle gets lit, that candle must remain upright. Then another unlit candle leans in to be lit from its flame. One by one, in all directions, the unlit candles lean in to be lit by the upright ones. That way the wax stays on the protector, no one gets burned, and no wax gets dropped on the carpet or other people.

This is the best metaphor I have ever found to describe the kind of evangelism required for the 21st century.

Jesus said that we are the light of the world. Once lit, it is imperative that we remain as “upright”—in every sense of that word—as possible. Then, those who wish to join us can lean in to our light. But that is the work of God’s Holy Spirit. So many people have been “burned” by well-meaning people bent on fulfilling the Great Commission by any means possible. But, the scriptures indicate that it is the Spirit who draws people to him. And there are no “altar calls” recorded in the New Testament. In fact, the scriptural pattern is this: those who desire to follow Christ will ask us how to do so without coercion or confrontation from us.

After Peter’s speech on the day of Pentecost, when many say the church began, the scriptures say the people were “cut to the heart.” (Acts 2:14 – 37) Then they responded with these words, “Brothers, what must we do?” Then, when Paul and Silas were freed from jail by a miraculous earthquake, the jailer fell on his knees and asked them, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” (Acts 16:6 – 24)

They will ask.

No need for confrontation, manipulation, or even an altar call. It seems that those things may make “converts” you can record on your annual reports, but they don’t make disciples. And only disciples—indigenous disciples—can suitably reach the indigenous.

Contextualize the Message, Part 3

At this point in the conversation, perhaps you are expecting me to give you a rundown on the best way to present the Gospel to the next generation in a manner in which they will understand. Isn’t that where we’re going with this? If you are anything like me, you would really like some specific words or a particular program like the Roman Road or the Four Spiritual Laws that you could use. Well, good luck with that.

See, here’s the deal. That is the problem. The problem is that we want a recipe or a 5 step formula for winning the postmodern soul. We want a script. It’s no wonder that the young think we’re like bad used car salesmen or irritating telemarketers who interrupt their lives with something they don’t want to hear about. And, as Neil Postman once wrote, they have built in “crap detectors.” So you can’t just blow smoke. They can spot insincerity a mile away.

“One size fits all” evangelism models make our victims feel like marks in a con game. Why can’t we learn to be ourselves? Jim Henderson, in his book Evangelism without Additives, talks about being real and simply “nudging people closer to Jesus” by asking good questions and then paying attention to their answers. He calls them “attention giveaways.” What a profound idea!

If there is a “secret” or a methodology, it is this: make a friend—a sincere one. Not a hey-I’ll-be-your-friend-so-I-can-win-you-to-Jesus kind of friend. I’m talking about developing a love relationship with someone that is unconditional. My problem used to be that I didn’t even know anyone who didn’t know Jesus.

Frankly, I used to spend 7 days a week in church and never got the opportunity to meet someone who wasn’t already like me. So we had to construct programs and events designed to pull people inside if we were to even have a chance with them. But if we had been truly trying to reach non-believers, that would make about as much sense as inviting a bank robber to come into the police station.

Today’s “church growth strategies” are really designed at reaching a “better class of sinner.” In truth, they are not aimed at “sinners” at all. Instead the targets are other church’s “sheep” or the grownups who have stopped going to church for one reason or another. So in reality, the Church (big “C”) is not growing at all.

We have to come to grips with the fact that we live in a pagan country where the basics of scripture and the Gospel are no longer common knowledge. It’s a new day. The old days of throw-enough-mud-on-the-wall-and-some-of-it-will-stick evangelism are over.

Todd Hunter, former director of Alpha USA, says, “It used to be that people primarily listened their way into Christian faith. That made the Christian role talking: defending the faith, explaining the faith, doing apologetics, preaching, writing tracts, etc. While that reality is not entirely gone, these days outsiders are increasingly talking and observing their way into faith. They need to tell their story and see if Christianity is real. This major shift is difficult, because right when seekers are looking instead of listening, the church is at a high mark of un-Christian living. Transformation into Christlikeness has always been the goal of Christianity. Now it is utterly strategic—the future of the faith in the USA, humanly speaking, depends upon it.”

Did you notice? Outsiders today are “talking and observing their way into faith.” This makes our job listening and living it—two things we don’t do very well. In fact, one outsider is quoted in the book UnChristian as saying, “It seems like Christians are more concerned with being right than being loving.” However, that has to change. If we are ever going to reach the next step in our mission, we have got to learn to love, listen, and live like Christ. Then we can count on the Holy Spirit to handle the next step.

Contextualize the Message, Part 2

In his 1964 book Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, Marshall McLuhan introduced his now famous line “the medium is the message.” Only the smartest people got it back then. Now, 45 years later, we can observe it every day. Just watch a television commercial. Advertisers don’t sell products, they sell cool. (Think: Abercrombie & Fitch, Mac, Starbucks.) These days, how you say it is more important than what you say.

Just to simplify, let me give you an example. If you were to hand someone under the age of 30 a cassette tape and say, “This is a really cool song,” you can be certain it will never be listened to. Not to mention the fact that they won’t have anything to play it on, the medium is so outdated that what is on it cannot be cool. The medium itself (cassette tape) screams, “Un-cool!”

Now, McLuhan would tell us that I was over-simplifying his life’s work—that what he meant was so much more than this. I get that. But this concept is no small matter to those of us who believe we have the most important message ever delivered. So it is proper that we should consider the media with which we communicate it.

It should be said that McLuhan was no Luddite. However, he was well aware of how media affect not only the messages they contain but also those who receive them. Like other educators (Neil Postman for example), he believed that technology was a force to be reckoned with. But McLuhan’s proposition isn’t just about technology. Let me give you another example.

Have you ever stumbled onto a television preacher and been stunned at the delivery? Try turning off the sound. It can be pretty disturbing. Especially if you consider that the message that is being communicated is in everything except the words. So, with the sound off, what is being communicated? That is the message—whether the sound is on or not.

One more. Let’s move to street level. I was having lunch the other day with an old friend that I hadn’t seen in 10 years. As it turns out, he carries fake $1,000,000 bills which have a salvation message on the back. (He got them from Ray Comfort and Kirk Cameron.) And he indiscriminately hands them to people he meets. I was mortified. It goes against everything I believe about connecting people with Jesus. Why? Well, what is the message being communicated? It’s not the one on the back of the fake bill.

Here’s the real message. I don’t know you. And I don’t have time to get to know you. But I have an agenda, and it supersedes common courtesy and your measly feelings. So here it is. You’re going to hell. (So sad.) But, you can change that right here, right now before some freakish cash register accident claims your life. Yes, if you will only say these words (printed here for you) you too can have eternal life. Oh, and by the way, it’s okay to feel inferior. I do have superior knowledge about what is best for you. You don’t have to thank me.

Some of you may think I’m exaggerating about how unchurched people feel about this kind of approach. I’m not. In fact, many Christians feel the same way. I have a friend who just had a t-shirt made that says: “I’m already saved. Leave me alone.” Except it says it a little stronger than that.

So, with McLuhan in the back of our heads, how do we contextualize the message for the next generation? Here’s another way to ask the question. How do we assure that the medium we use communicates the real message we want to express?

Contextualize the Message, Part 1

There is a 100 year old story (legend) told by the great Indian follower of Jesus Sadhu Sundar Singh. (A Sadhu is a Hindu ascetic.) The story is about a Brahman man—a high-caste Hindu—in India who fainted from the summer heat while sitting on a train at a railway station. Someone ran to the faucet, filled a cup with water, and brought it to the man in an attempt to revive him. But in spite of his condition, the passenger would not accept the water because it was offered to him in the cup of a man belonging to another caste. Then someone noticed that the high-caste man had a cup on the seat beside him; so he grabbed it, went out and filled it with water, returned, and offered it to the man, who now readily accepted the water with gratitude.

At this point, Sundar Singh would tell his audience that missionaries from the West had been offering the “water of life” to the people of India in a foreign cup. Therefore, they were reluctant to receive it. However, Sundar Singh was offering it in their own cup, so that they were much more likely to accept it. In other words, as an indigenous member of the Indian culture, Sundar Singh was able to offer up the Gospel in an indigenous form. Now they could understand the message within the context of their lives.

Unfortunately, the American church has mistakenly supposed that she has been communicating the Gospel in the language and the context of the culture. Perhaps, the message and methods of the early twentieth century worked back then, but for the last 50 years the strident call has been falling on increasingly deaf ears. We have not been offering the water of life in their cup. We’ve been offering it up in ours—a cup forged in modernity and revivalism, with words and idioms of a bygone era. I call it a King James message to a Stephen King world.

Meanwhile, the culture has left us in the dust, while we have become more and more culturally incestual. Some who would criticize the Amish practices of isolationist customs and behaviors are just as separatist in their traditions and programs.

The Campus Crusade tract The Four Spiritual Laws depicts a familiar picture to most Christians of an uncrossable canyon between man and God which must be bridged by the cross of Jesus. Unfortunately, before that message will be heard, there is an equally uncrossable and ever-widening gap fixed between church culture and popular culture. And it is a crevasse that must be bridged by the church.

In places and circumstances where people have been less receptive to the message of the Gospel, several scholars have tried to understand and plot the journey to faith. James Engel in his 1975 book What’s Gone Wrong with the Harvest? shares what has become known as the Engel Scale. Expanding on Engel’s work, Paul and Sue Hazelden began working on a modified Engel Scale in 2000 which is a bit more broad. It includes people who have no “God concept” at all. And, finally Frank Gray of the Far East Broadcasting Company developed the Gray Matrix that expands their work. His matrix includes not only the cognitive elements of the Engel Scale but also attitudinal aspects—a person’s receptivity to the message—on a two-dimensional model with vertical and horizontal axes.

These will not be explained here, but they can be studied separately by accessing the links provided. Believe me, they are an invaluable resource for anyone who is trying to understand the progression toward faith and how important life context is in that process. It is also a valuable tool for the church to recognize that most of its efforts will not reach to people any further away than about a negative four on the Engel Scale. And most church programs are designed for people in the “C” quadrant (higher knowledge and receptivity) of the Gray Matrix.

In part two we will include what it might look like to offer the water of life in their cup.

Immerse Yourself in the Culture

One of the mistaken assumptions of early missions from the West to “less civilized” continents was that the countries being conquered, colonized, “civilized,” and proselytized were in some way inferior to Western culture. Anyone who has ever seen the 1980 Jamie Uys masterpiece “The Gods Must Be Crazy” realizes the absurdity of that thinking. Or if you know the story of Gandhi, whose moral superiority brought the British Empire to its knees, you can appreciate the hubris of such belief.

Thank goodness and hindsight that we are now teaching new candidates a better approach to “foreign missions.” At least in most schools we are embracing the worth and the beauty of cultural diversity. And we’re teaching aspiring missionaries how important it is to immerse themselves in the life and culture of the indigenous.

However, we Westerners are slow to learn. It is unfortunate that the same antiquated 19th century kind of thinking still goes on inside the minds of people at all levels in the American church. American Christians believe their way of life to be superior in every way to those outside the church. Therefore, we continue the conquer, colonize, civilize, and proselytize mentality of our forbears.

But what if we—like our foreign counterparts—were to immerse ourselves in the culture around us? What if we were to embrace the culture outside the walls of the church? Here in America. What would that look like? I’m not advocating sin. I’m not advocating promiscuity. What I am advocating is changing the TV channel away from Christian television and to the shows that are exploring spiritual matters. Try listening to NPR instead of Christian radio.

Current shows like “Lost” or “Heroes” or “Ghost Whisperer” explore spirituality. Even the prime-time cartoon “The Simpsons” poses questions and explores possible answers to the spiritual quest of some of its characters. And has done so for 20 years! In fact, Homer’s next door neighbor Ned Flanders (fictional graduate of Oral Roberts University) made the cover of “Christianity Today.” There are myriad ways to explore the culture without indulging in immoral behavior.

More importantly, what I am advocating is sitting at table with those who will never darken the door of a church. What I am advocating is befriending “prostitutes,” “tax collectors,” and “sinners.” Does that sound vaguely familiar?

What I am advocating is creating opportunities to be a light that is surrounded by darkness. A candle adds very little light to a room brightly lit with hundreds of other intense lights. And a light hidden under the “bushel” of church walls is no light at all.

Then, beyond sitting at table, we must listen to the hearts and the voices of those who find themselves outside our exclusive circle. The inventor of the stethoscope, René Laennec, said, “Listen to your patients; they are telling you how to heal them.” Great advice for the church.

I love this quote from Earl Creps’ book Off-Road Disciplines: “Christian leaders today need to listen for the questions posed by those navigating our cultural perfect storm, regardless of the relationship of those voices to the Church. This sort of humility requires no compromise of orthodoxy but goes a long way toward defusing an often suspicious post-Christian audience, while maturing the Church in its devotion to Christ.” (p. 132)

Learning the language and immersing one’s self in the culture are the first two steps that will allow us to contextualize the message of Jesus for the people outside the church. Contextualization is the next step in the process.

Learn the Language

If you plan on being a missionary, the need for learning a new language when you move to another country is pretty obvious. One can only gain minimum credibility by speaking to natives through an interpreter. Being able to communicate in the language of the people group one is trying to reach is an imperative.

Many missionaries will tell you that about all they accomplish during their first four years in a new country is learning the language. It is a worthy investment of time, however long it takes. I can’t imagine any reasonable person who would disagree with this. Nevertheless, this is apparently only applicable in ministry outside of the United States. I mean, how could there be a language barrier here in America? We all speak the same language, right?

Well, no. We don’t.

Every week in churches all over America, pastors and parishioners are practicing and expanding upon a dialect of English which is not spoken, heard, or understood by the majority of Americans. Some call it “Christianese.” Whatever we label it, it is unmistakably a “foreign” language to the rest of the culture.

The more isolated we (the Church) have become, the more idiomatic phrases and “secret handshakes” have become a part of the common conversation inside and outside the four walls of our churches. Inside jokes and exclusive language with an “us versus them” mentality pervade our speech. It’s as though insiders have the need to develop a code that isn’t breakable by outsiders.

This is just a small example, but we had an incident early on in our experience that was a reminder to us to be diligent in “watching our language.” One week, one of our leaders led a prayer. I think it was before an offering. But he ended the prayer with these words: “And everyone said…”

So, maybe two people said, “Amen.” I was horrified. That is so much an insider secret handshake. The next week we had a leadership meeting.

I used humor and approached the subject of the transgression lightly, so that he didn’t feel scolded. But the disturbing part about pointing it out in that meeting was that not one other person on our leadership team had thought about how “insider” that phrase was. They remembered him saying it, but at the time no one else thought anything of it. But the “outsiders” who were present that day had no idea what “everyone said.”

I have found that there are two things we “churchy” people need to do in order to recognize such insider language and eliminate it from our vocabularies. First, we need to remove ourselves from the source of insider speech. For example, I used to spend 7 days a week in the church. I didn’t have time to even meet an outsider, let alone establish a relationship with someone who didn’t already “know the code.” I will address this later.

Secondly, we need to immerse ourselves in the culture of those outside our circle. That I will address next.

"Missionaries" to Tulsa

Sometimes just thinking gets me in trouble. I guess it’s not really the thinking; it’s when I open my mouth about what I’m thinking. When I was studying for the credentialing process, I started wondering: Why do pastors and missionaries go through a completely different set of courses from each other? (Am I the only guy who wonders about stuff like this?) I know that the Bible materials, the hermeneutics, the homiletics, and other things are the same. But, aren’t these two considered (in most Bible schools and seminaries) different schools, or at least different departments? Pastoral ministry on the one hand and missions education on the other?

Why?

Now, I know that I didn’t go to a Bible college or a seminary, but I have a lot of friends who did. A lot of friends. Close, personal friends. Plus, I had to take a miniature version of “Bible school” at the institute level in order to become ordained. We’re talking 33 courses on everything from church history to church polity, from Roberts Rules of Order to the most basic of doctrines—orthodoxy, and orthopraxy—with a little preaching, a little administration, and a little leadership thrown into the mix. So I have a clue.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not foolish enough to think of my education as an equivalent to that of the greatest American seminaries. I am well aware that I drew the short stick there. But, I was only required to take one course on cross cultural communications and another on world religions. And according to my unscientific surveys of friends, that’s not too far off from “real” Bible schools.

In the last 10 years, I’ve done quite a lot of self-educating in the study of missiology. (Once again, the short stick, on the short bus.) And I have been surprised at what I have learned. Your experience may be different from mine. However, after a childhood of observing shaky 16mm movies of missionaries who had turned naked African “savages” into Americanized “Christians” wearing shoes, long pants, white shirts, and ties, it wasn’t hard for even a child to see what was wrong with this picture. Needless to say, many years ago I bought into a more indigenous method. At least with regard to “foreign” missions—a method that did not violate the “Prime Directive.”

But more recently, in the starting of a new church, I came to the conclusion that while this method is being used all over the world (hopefully), it hasn’t been tried in America—at least not in the last 50 years, if ever. And, with church attendance at less than 20% of the American population on any given Sunday, it might be time to appropriate indigenous mission methods on American soil.

You can take this or leave it, since I am the “short stick” guy. But I have been working on a five step summary of the indigenous method. So, at the risk of over-simplifying, here are the basics of how one might accomplish such an endeavor. I will merely list the steps here, but I will attempt to explain each one with a succeeding blog chapter.

1. Learn the language.
2. Immerse yourself in the culture.
3. Contextualize the Gospel into the language and the culture of the indigenous.
4. Allow the Holy Spirit to draw the indigenous.
5. Empower and send the indigenous to reach their own.

I don’t like the verbiage of “strategy” when it comes to the Gospel. It objectifies the “target audience” and has militaristic overtones. But, these simple steps could certainly qualify as a broad guideline and a methodology for rethinking our approach to church and to mission in America.

Culture

It is my experience that the culture of a group of people is far greater than the sum of its parts. Now by culture I don’t mean the group’s level of sophistication. I’m not talking about its art, its combined knowledge, or its cultural anthropology. What I am referring to is the set of shared attitudes, values, goals, and practices that characterize a community. Thus, a group’s culture is more than the combination of individual personalities in the crowd. It involves their interactions with each other—their relationships. One may have a bond with another, but how is that relationship affected by the introduction of a third, a fourth, and/or a fifth person.
Interestingly, I’ve found that the larger the group, the more likely it becomes that a certain hierarchy will naturally begin to appear. And such a perceived pecking order may be determined by the simplest or the most complex of means. Things as diverse as money, beauty, position, power, and personality may affect one’s place in such an unsanctioned caste system. It is an extraordinary sociological pattern. But it is so much a part of who we are that we seldom notice or acknowledge its occurrence. However, when it is pointed out, we recognize it immediately.
For example, the wealthy get listened to. The beautiful hang together. Smart people get together to talk about smart stuff. While the shy, the plain, and the average give mental and sociological assent to the perceived worth of the perky, the beautiful, and the exceptional. And the higher up the ladder one goes, the more influence he or she wields in the shaping of the future attitudes, values, and practices of the larger group. In other words, the people at the top of the heap have the most influence on the culture.
But what if a culture could be established that would do away with the natural order of things? What if it were possible to begin with everyone in the group at the same level of influence and worth? What if money, beauty, position, power, and personality were no longer forms of measurement? And what if the poor, the plain, the lowly, the weak, and the introvert were valued as equals with them? And what if it were possible to maintain that kind of altruism? What would that look like?
I think it might look like the church that Jesus intended for us to be—without hierarchy, rank, or privilege. It might look like a people who are united despite ethnicity, socio-economic status, or gender. (Galatians 3:28) And that might lend itself to producing a citizenship which embraces everyone, regardless of their status, influence, or behavior.
What would a church be if everyone looked like priests, all with equal access to God? And what if everyone in the community were equal partners in leadership and had an identical empowerment for service? And what if the community’s meeting spaces looked more like real life places than specialty buildings constructed exclusively for the use of “Christians?” But that’s getting away from culture…sort of.
This is the premise upon which Agora was started. It was and is intended to be a foundation of love, mutual respect, and understanding.
We have found that everyone has a story. And that we have no right to judge someone if we don’t know their story. And then once we know their story, we have no need or desire to judge them. This is the power of authentic relationships. True relationship not only brings judgmentalism to an end, it also takes away the power of gossip. Because we are all invested in one another.
When a community shares attitudes, values, goals, and practices, a culture is formed. But if that culture is to be perpetuated, it must faithfully carry out its values and practices, embrace new members, and thoroughly train its progeny. That also sounds like church.
Thus, for the above reasons and some others we will enumerate, I have found that an effective ecclesiology begins with a culture, more than a doctrine.

The Big Shift

This blog entry marks a shift in focus. Previously, I have attempted to tell of the circumstances and the serendipitous events which brought about our beginnings—our “Origin of Species.” But now I will attempt to shift the focus from the past to our current condition and methodology. No doubt I will use the occasional flashback for a better perspective on various discoveries.
I have been writing this blog for two major purposes. The first is to explain to the Agora community why and how we came to be. Every family needs to know its family tree. We know better where we are, when we know from whence we have come.
The second reason I have put this to “paper” is to report to anyone who is curious how the grand experiment is going. I see it as a way to make a more legitimate “progress report” to constituents as well as onlookers than the classic format. You see, at the end of every year, I have to file a rather detailed account of our numbers—people and dollars. And, although I agree that there should be an accountability where progress—success or failure—can be measured, people and dollars (or nickels and noses) are not the best way to do it.
I have found that the only accurate way to report progress in this paradigm is for us to tell our stories. So, from this point forward it will be an ongoing report—a telling of our stories both collective and individual.
The one thread that you will see appearing both in the larger narrative as well as the smaller ones is relationship. Everything we do is geared toward developing, maintaining, and experiencing relationship—with God, with each other, and with real people. And, it is the priority of relationship that has helped us to develop the one characteristic of Agora that flavors everything else (like salt flavors food/the earth): our culture.

The Plan

On Sunday, October 31, 2004, Pastor Phil gave us the whole day to make a presentation to the church at Carbondale. On Sunday morning, we announced my resignation and provided the people a dialogue about the next generation. Our primary text came from the Old Testament book of Judges. It is an accurate description of many who live in our city today. “After that whole generation had been gathered to their fathers, another generation grew up, who knew neither the LORD nor what he had done for Israel.” (Judges 2:10) We talked about the need to reach to people in our church-rich city who would never walk into a building full of “Christians” any more than a robber would go strolling into a police station.
That night, we talked about how we might strategize to accomplish this task. At the time, I had formulated a few ideas. By that I mean, I had read some books. So I shared some fancy power point pictures and diagrams that I had probably copied from either Ed Stetzer, Ralph Moore, or Frost / Hirsh. And we told the people of Carbondale that in the coming days they would all be invited to go with us—anyone who felt so led.
By January of 2005, we had already begun to meet weekly with a launch team that had been assembled. We also held Q & A meetings at Carbondale every Sunday night in January one hour prior to the evening service for anyone who was curious about the new endeavor. Carbondale also sent us to a church planting “Boot Camp” that helped us to clarify our vision, our mission, and our strategies.
Now, if I had it to do all over again, we would have taken a lot more time to plan and to prepare before a launch date. But we didn’t know any better. So, on Sunday morning, February 6, at 10:00 am, we gathered for the first time in the Zarrow Regional Library meeting room right across the street from Carbondale. It was, all in all, rather inauspicious. I probably sucked. I often do. But we had a couple of things going for us.
First, we had already answered “yes” to the big question: “At the end of the day, did God call us to do this?” So, there was that. But second, out of the 40 or so people who had decided to come with us, there were more than a handful of us who were determined to figure this thing out.
So maybe that’s another thing we had going for us. We never claimed to know for sure what to do or how to do it. What we found out was that we had a group of people—some of them any way—who were willing to suspend expectations and to dive into this grand experiment together. What we had was an assortment of folks who would become a community which was willing to help us develop the culture, the values, and the praxis that would become Agora.

Who Will Go with Us?

In spite of our assurance that we had to do this, we still felt a lot of apprehension about how to proceed. We had read a couple of books on planting churches, but we had never done it before nor had we been a part of a plant. So, wouldn’t that be like reading a driver’s manual and then jumping right into a car and assuming that I can drive? I knew one thing: we would have to have help.
First of all, Pastor Phil had given us permission to present our vision to the entire church and to invite anyone who shared the vision to go with us. Not only was this a gracious gesture, it was nearly unheard of within the circles in which we ran. But before we were even ready for that we still had some work to do. We had to figure out what this new community would look like and why. We needed more training. And we needed some people we loved and trusted to help us dream and plan and to go with us to help.
It didn’t take us very long to deliberate as to whom we would ask to come alongside us. Two couples immediately came to mind, and once we had Pastor’s permission, we asked them to pray and to consider taking this leap with us.
I have to say that I don’t know what I would have done if either of them had said no. I was so convinced that they were the ones that I probably would have had to rethink the whole thing if either of them had said no. Thankfully, neither of them did.
David and Iva Gilliam had been friends of ours for more than a dozen years. We had been through a lot together and had served together in two different churches. David has a Christian Education degree as well as a Masters of Divinity diploma. Iva is an extremely talented musician and singer and one of the kindest, most capable people I know. Besides, we really love them. And you want to share this kind of experience with people you love and with which you like spending a lot of time.
Inexplicably, Dave and Iva said yes.
Now the Gilliams are pretty close to being our age. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just that we also felt that we needed a younger influence from the very beginning of this journey. If we were going to relate to the emerging generations we needed some of the indigenous on our team. So, the next couple we were compelled to invite was much younger.
Michael and Candace Marshall were leaders in the young adult department at Carbondale. I had gotten to know Mike in the ministerial training program that we had helped to start. Like the Gilliams, Mike and Candace had a definite call upon their lives and had demonstrated their abilities and their love for people. Now we were six.
Having these four people in the boat with us made the terror of it all minimally tolerable. Their yeses gave us impetus. But now we had to prepare to tell the church family about our plans, and see if anyone else would consider going with us.
O, wait! What was the plan?

At the End of the Day

I don’t know what you do when you have a major decision to make, but I do some pretty dramatic stuff if the choice is particularly difficult. When everything is on the line, I don’t want to be casual about it. Deciding whether or not to start a church was arguably the most important decision of my life up to this point. So it was time for some drama.
I learned while studying and teaching the Old Testament that the “fleecing” that God allowed Gideon to do was not appropriate for me. You know the: Okay, God, if you want me to do this then let this other thing happen kind-of-thing. So, for example if I were to say, “God, if you want me to start a church, then let someone who doesn’t know we’re even considering it come and tell me we’re supposed to do it.” Or maybe, “If we’re supposed to do this, then let someone give an anonymous donation of several million dollars for the cause.” See, that would be inappropriate for me to ask for. So that was out.
The next thing I do—short of lightning or an audible voice—is to make a “pro / con” list. That’s where you draw a line down the center of a yellow legal pad and write “pro” on the left side and “con” on the right side. Okay, yeah, let’s do that. So I listed all the reasons for (pro) starting a church versus all the reasons not to (con). This turned out to be a rather futile exercise, because I was leaving a job for which I had years of education and experience. I had a great salary and benefits and a certain reputation in a rather controlled sampling of my peers. Plus security, retirement, and stability are not something to ignore at my age. And all of these things were on my “con” side. I would be leaving these things behind.
However, on the “pro” side were things like adventure, creativity, and challenge. None of those give me any hope of retirement before the age of 80. So that approach was a bust.
Now what?
I do believe in wise counsel. I’m certainly aware that I’m not the first guy to come up against a hard decision. So I sought the input of several whose opinion I value. One of those stood out. In fact, his words to us became the theme song of our step of faith.
Jeff Lucas is an internationally known speaker and author. Although England is his land of origin, America has also fallen in love with him. He now shares almost equal time between the two. And Carbondale has been a frequent stop for him over the last several years.
While we were in the throws of decision-making, Jeff paid us a visit. He gave us some really good input and insight into new ways of doing and thinking about church. But the best advice we received in the weeks during our dilemma were these. Jeff said, “Here’s the only question you have to answer: At the end of the day, has God called you to do this?”
That may seem so simple—kind of a “duh!” But those straightforward words became our answer. When we looked at it from that perspective, we knew the answer.
“Yes.”

Not Your Grandpa’s Church

Start a church? Really? Had I ever thought about it? Well, not out loud, but certainly I had dreamed. Maybe a better word is fantasized. However, over the years I had developed quite a stack of concerns about the modern church. Those concerns were magnified in the years I spent teaching ministerial candidates in the study center sponsored by the church. Then layer on top of that all the questions spawned by the tornado and then the subversive stuff Earl had given to me to read.
I knew one thing for sure: Tulsa didn’t need another church. There’s already one on almost every street corner, and another one pops up about every other week or so. They are as numerous and prolific as roaches.
That, despite the fact that the church in Oklahoma and across America hasn’t been growing for dozens of years. We’ve just been passing around the same people among us. Why would I want to build a church out of somebody else’s rejects? People who are disgruntled in one place will still be disgruntled when they show up at your place.
While we’re talking about shuffling people, Tulsa is the biggest of culprits. One preacher has a new revelation and builds up a big following. But then he can’t keep it in his pants, so another “man of the hour” comes along until he gets a wandering eye or an old skeleton knocks on his office door.
And church in Tulsa is big business—big names, big buildings, and big money. The smorgasbord of programs, groups, and activities makes the local churches without a doubt the largest providers of consumer services in the state. Church has become a pay-as-you-go, consumer-driven enterprise where money changes hands in exchange for “services rendered.” And those consumers (called members) have expectations.
And those expectations begin with: church is supposed to be the place where the God-stuff gets done. Where our children and youth are supposed to get discipled so we, their parents, don’t have to do it. Us too, for that matter. Disciple me so I don’t have to do that myself either.
Oh and, we need a place to discover and exercise our “gifts.” Especially the ones that the “world” can’t seem to appreciate. We need a place where we can be suckled and be healed and find meaning and purpose. And if we don’t feel we’re getting our money’s worth, we can move on claiming we weren’t being fed.
After I pondered all of this—all things I had experienced or witnessed—I concluded that if I was nuts enough to go through with it, there would have to be a major paradigm shift. Not just in the thinking but in our whole approach to “doing church.” If we decided to do it, it would not be; it could not be my grandpa’s church.

Everything Changes

Everything started to unravel the day Darryl told us he was taking a hike. He had been asked to return home to the church (First Assembly of God) in which he grew up in Bartlesville, Oklahoma. He had already seen from his experience with Phil and me that you can “go home.” It was explained to him that this was an opportunity to eventually become the pastor, because the senior pastor there was getting ready to retire. That’s a whole other story that I’ll let Darryl tell.
However, Darryl’s leaving meant the death of the “Dream Team.” It was a great nine year run. But, as they say, “All good things must come to an end.” For me, it was the end of a very good thing.
With all the stuff Earl Creps had put into my head, with Darryl’s departure, with major staff modifications, and my own growing discontent with the “status quo,” it was inevitable that things would come to a head. To Phil’s credit, he recognized it for what it was.
A staff disagreement over changes that were being made, some not for the better and I had a melt down. This could have gone a lot of different ways, but Phil saw what was happening. He called me in one day, and we sat down and talked like we had so many other times. When “stuff” happens, like it always will, it really helps to have a mutual respect and a sincere love for one another.
We talked about the church. We talked about the stuff we were reading. We talked about the changes and the clashes.
He said to me, “You know, I’ve been doing things this way for a long time, almost 30 years. And I don’t think I’m ready to change everything. Because that is what it would take.” He said, “But I’ve heard you say so many times, ‘If I ever pastored a church… I’d do this or that.’” He told me, “Plus, you know how much I love this church and all of its people, many of whom would have to be dragged through this kind of change.” And then he added, “But what if you did it? What if you started something new based on the stuff we’ve been reading? What if you planted a new church and we helped you?”
I was stunned. Was he serious?
What’s really interesting about all of this is that before I ever came back to Carbondale, Phil and I started talking about planting a church some day. In the late 80’s, inner-city churches were the cool thing to consider. So we had talked about that. In fact, the youth pastor before Darryl had left to plant an inner-city church in Oklahoma City. But, up until then, I had never thought about it being me. And I don’t think either of us could have anticipated that it would be this kind of church.
I left his office that day with my head spinning. I had said, “Are you serious?”
He said, “Yes, very serious. Go talk to Vicki, pray about it, and then let’s get back together and talk some more.”
So I said I would.
Almost immediately the wheels started turning. I wasn’t sure where it all was coming from. I started talking about the culture of a church and its core values over programs and doctrine. This was long before I read about it. I started thinking about the failure of preaching to achieve any appreciable change in behavior. And I started asking what a church would look like and feel like that would embrace all who walked through its doors.
From before the beginning, the seeds were planted that would become Agora. But there were still several steps to be taken and more questions to be asked before we discussed anything as drastic as a launch date.

Associate Pastor of Music

I told you earlier that when the tornado hit, we did a lot of soul searching and rethinking as a church and particularly as a staff. We had time to think about what we were going to do when we got our newly reconstructed building with twice the space as before. We evaluated our strengths and looked honestly at the potential that was there.
Finally we decided that one of our strengths was our great staff relations and the talent that was contained therein. Phil, Darryl, and I were at times the three musketeers, the three tenors, or the three stooges, depending upon with whom you talked. We evaluated our strengths individually and collectively and looked at the giftings of the congregation as a whole. As a result we decided to do some restructuring.
We decided to change our titles to reflect a more unified and balanced pastoral approach. Darryl and I would both be associate pastors. And we decided to play to our individual strengths. Mine was music. And the giftings of the church as a whole included an incredible amount of musical talent. So I became the Associate Pastor of Music, and I took over the entire music program.
Darryl was the Associate Pastor of Students. And we let Phil keep his title as Senior Pastor.
Eventually we added Mike Atkinson to play the straight man. Not that he wasn’t really quick, really smart, and really funny. He was. And is. It’s just that we needed someone who could handle the business side. The three choleric sanguines needed a melancholy to balance us out. He became the Associate Pastor of Administration.
I really didn’t ponder it for very long, but I did wonder if I had been demoted. I decided quickly that it didn’t really matter. I was having a blast. I enjoyed the new challenge of a stellar music ministry. So I just put my head down and broke into a full sprint.
We had so much talent. In fact, while we were still at VBI, the orchestra would rehearse on Sunday afternoons. I had nearly 30 instrumentalists. One day the music guy from Victory came by to sit in on our rehearsal. We were a church of 500 people with an all volunteer orchestra of nearly 30 by then. While he had a handful of musicians in a church of 10,000. He was flabbergasted.
I could have been satisfied to stay there for a long time to come. But then came that Earl Creps guy and another tornado. Not a wind of destruction this time, but a wind of change.

Assistant Pastor

When I came to work at Carbondale in 1992, I was hired to be the Assistant Pastor. It was a transitional role for me. I had been involved in Church Music Ministry since I was very young—participant, volunteer, part-time, and finally full-time. So I had been a Minister of Music, but I had been feeling like I should be more involved with people and less involved in producing a product. (One church had actually called me the Minister of Fine Arts. But I was a choir director and a worship leader just like I had been everywhere else.)
As the assistant pastor, I got to be involved in every aspect of the church’s work. From administration to children, from Christian education to nursery, from calendars to communication, I got a taste of it all. And, because I was called alongside to help the pastor, and because my input was valued, I felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to offer my knowledge, perspective, and experience to every major decision. I mean, I had already been in full-time ministry for what, seven years. And I had been watching people who were pastors since I was old enough to remember. What else was there to know?
Of course, Phil had already been on staff in this one place for 16 years and the pastor for 7. (What did he know?) So it was inevitable that Phil and I would eventually disagree about some things. Honestly, I don’t remember very many of those. However, I do remember one time when we did disagree.
It wasn’t earth-shaking. We both had strong opinions. Of course, ultimately it wasn’t my decision to make. But we disagreed. So, after the decision was made and carried out, I actually put in writing my objections to it. Seriously? Yes, I did. Nevertheless, I made it clear that although these were my feelings on the subject, I would back him and his decision. I assured him that no one would ever know that we had disagreed. Well, until now.
Now, you don’t know what it was all about, and I’m certainly not going to tell you. But, I think each of us believes he was right, all these years later. I mean, I believed that there were eternal ramifications to the decision. Not the least of which was probably Phil’s secret eye-rolling, “O, brother! What have I gotten myself into with this guy?”
Truth be told, Phil was always gracious toward my zeal. He never made me feel like an idiot. Frankly, I didn’t need his help to do that.

Who Gave You the Keys?

At the risk of overstating this, I have to say that coming home in 1992 to work in the church in which I grew up was the coolest. I could not have been more stoked. And working side by side with my cousin, friend, and “brother” Phil was almost too good to be true.
That’s not to say that it was without challenges. We had our work cut out for us when we got there. But we survived the transition. And then, in little more than a year, we even survived another transition—our first staff change. That modification in personnel necessitated our becoming interim youth pastors, which we had done before.
However, the guy Phil hired to step into that position could not have fit in any better with us. Even though he was 15 years younger, Darryl Wooton was and still is the man. In no time, we were known as one of the best teams in our region. The church flourished, and people wanted to hear from us the secret of our success. They asked for our advice on pastor and staff relations. We didn’t have much to tell them except, “We really love each other, and we love working together.” Apparently, that’s not all that common. But our years together will always be remembered as some of the most fun I have ever had in ministry.
We were having a blast. In fact, we joked about the inmates taking over the asylum. Phil remarked once that it was such a dream, and we were still such “kids” on the inside that we were expecting at any moment one of the elders to storm into our “staff meeting” over Chinese food at “Golden Palace” and say, “What do you boys think you’re doing? Who gave you the keys to this place? Give those back. We’re going to need some adults to take over here.”
But that never happened. They let us be in charge. And that could have continued until I retired as far as I was concerned. I think I could have been content to stay there for a long time.
But then the tornado hit.

The “Peacemakers”

I have only attended two Easter Sunrise Services in my life. The first was at Carbondale Assembly of God on Easter Sunday (duh…), April 6th, 1969. The second was at the infamous church I worked at in Georgia. I find it interesting that neither one of them ever did it more than once. Once was so enough.
However, on that auspicious day in 1969, there was a lot of time in between the sunrise service and Sunday School. So, several of us younger folks were wasting time in the “fellowship hall.” Someone had found a youth choir book, so Phil sat down at the piano while the rest of us stood looking over his shoulder. Before long, we were making some pretty good sounds. All of us read music well enough to read the parts, and soon we decided we might have something. Here are the names of the five youth who formed a new ensemble that morning, in alphabetical order: Paula Hale, Roger Sharp, Phil Taylor, Jeff Taylor, and Zelinda Warnock.
We performed a few times. Once even outside of our church, but I don’t remember where that was. People were impressed, primarily because we were so young. I was 13 and the youngest. But Roger was the oldest at only 16.
Ultimately, the three of us guys got together and had a serious conversation about the future. Because we were so young and also because we had some pretty big dreams, we decided that involving young ladies in our big plans might eventually end in disaster or at least drama. (Sorry, girls. In case you never heard the truth, this is it.) So the mixed quintet became an all male trio.
My dad had been a part of a group called the “Peacemakers” for a very short period of time. They already had business cards and stationery with my home address and phone number on them. So “Peacemakers” was as good a name as any. Better than most. Plus, now we had stationery. And cards.
These three guys—Roger, Phil, and Jeff—could never have imagined what they were forming. This was an alliance, a partnership, and a friendship that would last a lifetime. And the music we would make would take us all over the world. April 6th, 2009 will be our 40th anniversary as a group. We are still performing together after all these years. In fact, we just traveled to Russia where we performed in several major cities in beautiful old “opera houses.”
Over the years, we all traveled different paths. There were even periods of years when we didn’t perform at all. But our paths have continued to cross because of the one constant in all of it—our home: Carbondale. Where we grew up, where we met, and where we continue to connect.
So, you will have a hard time imagining what a thrill it was to be asked to come home to work in the church of my childhood.

No Place Like Home

Before I get into 1992, let’s go back to the beginning—my beginning—in 1955. (I know. It was like 3 years before the car was invented.) Like the starting phrase of a bad novel, it was a dark and stormy night, literally. And it looked like I wasn’t going to “pop out” anytime soon. So they sent dad home and kept mom. These were the days when dads had to sit in the waiting room anyway, so they thought he ought to sleep in his own bed instead of loitering in the lobby all night.
Dad was a little nervous, I think, so instead of giving the hospital his phone number—just in case—he gave them his boss’ number. So sure enough, in the middle of the night they called Hildred Tucker’s home and said, “Your wife is about to have a baby.” Hildred informed them that his wife Mary was lying in bed asleep next to him. Well, it didn’t take long to figure out what had happened. Hildred gave them dad’s number, and dad rushed up to St. John.
That night, the newest, youngest member of Mom’s OB/GYN staff was on call. Dr. Cohen delivered me early that next morning. (As a side note, that same Dr. Cohen, as the senior member of the same group, was on call almost 28 years later and also delivered our first daughter Whitney.)
By 1959, my family had moved to West Tulsa and we started attending a little church at the corner of West 48th and South 30th West Avenue. I grew up at Carbondale Assembly of God. In fact, I don’t remember anything prior to Carbondale.
In October of 1967, the congregation moved to its current location on West 51st street. I barely remember that. But in the previous summer of 1967, my favorite cousin Phil had moved from Muskogee, Oklahoma to Tulsa. That I remember well.
We were born seven months apart in 1955—he in May and I in December. But we loved one another like brothers from the time we were little. In fact, before they moved to Tulsa, anytime one of us would visit the other we would cry when it was time to go home.
“Why do we have to live so far apart? It’s not fair.”
So, it was a glorious day, the day they rolled into West Tulsa to live. And, while they were building a house in Berryhill, they rented a house a little over a mile from ours. That summer, we would walk to and from each other’s houses, because we could. It was 1967. (Cars couldn’t go more than 10 miles an hour that far back, I don’t think.)
One day, we were walking up 51st street on the way to our house and passed the home of an older boy from the church. He was out mowing his lawn. Roger Sharp was three years older than us. I was getting ready to go into the 6th grade. Which means he was getting ready to start the 9th. I was so nervous. I didn’t even know if he would know who I was. In fact, I still don’t know if he did. But I was determined to introduce my cousin to him and vice versa. I probably wanted them both to think I was cool.
Roger stopped his riding lawnmower, acted like he knew who I was—even if he didn’t—and couldn’t have been kinder to me and to Phil, the new kid.
From that summer to this day, Phil and I have been almost inseparable. People who have known us for many years think of us together. Many of those people believe we are brothers, when, in fact, we are closer than that. But in less than two years we would add another one to the band of brothers. That kid on the mower would form a fraternity with us that would take us all over the world together.

Three Pastors

Following my “Saul” experience in Georgia, the next three pastors I worked for were good men. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it was to work for honorable men who felt a tremendous sense of responsibility not only to their congregation and to their calling but also to those whom they had called along side to help. I learned so much from each of them: patience, loyalty, compassion, and diplomacy… and patience.
Having been in corporate work for several years, I was coming from a much more black and white and “secular” perspective in my approach to people and to situations. I was much more the “Barney Fife” nip-it-in-the-bud kind of guy. But, these men taught me that this seldom works in your favor with people.
There’s a standing joke among preachers that doesn’t often get spoken aloud. The joke is: Pastoring would be a great job if it wasn’t for the people. Of course the irony is that pastoring is, of course, a people job. So, it is also a job of learning for a lifetime.
I remember reading a short phrase in the original Life’s Little Instruction Book, and when I read it, it was a revelation. I suddenly understood what these three men had been trying to teach me. Here it is.
“Never cut what can be untied.”
For some of you reading this, it will be inconsequential. But when I read it, an immediate bright halogen headlight turned on. I suddenly understood that my natural inclination was to cut, slice, rip, nip, and hack—leaving behind an unusable piece of yarn. But in the actions of these men I saw, time and time again that prayerfully left alone, most things work out “on their own,” without someone having to be the bad guy. Or perhaps, given enough time, God works things together for his purposes, so long as I don’t try to force it and screw it up.
Once I learned this principle, it didn’t mean that I didn’t get impatient. Actually, it often drove me crazy. But it has paid off, and it has gotten easier over the years.
Of the three men I worked for after we left Georgia, the best one was family. In March of 1992, I returned home.

The “Saul” Experience

The Israelite king David was anointed king long before the existing king Saul had died. So, to say there was some real tension between them would be a great understatement. You can read their story beginning at about 1 Samuel 16 and ending with Saul’s death in chapter 31.
Though Saul continued to try to kill David, David refused to kill Saul. And David let Saul know that he had had more than one opportunity to kill him but didn’t. In fact, 2 Samuel 1 tells the story of David’s grief over the loss of Saul. David only needed to know one thing: Saul was anointed by God and therefore once God had laid his hand on him, only God himself should take action against him. David’s own words on the subject can be found in 1 Samuel 26 especially verses 9 through 11.
I tell all of this in order to help the reader understand where some of us who have had a “Saul” experience are coming from.
Now, I have never had a pastor or anyone else trying to kill me and neither has any of my friends in ministry (except one). However, I do know what it is like to be subservient to someone who so obviously did not have my best interest in mind. Working for a pastor is like working for anyone else. We are all different. We all have strengths and weaknesses. We all have gifts and talents, but we also have a human side. And the human stuff is bone deep.
In Georgia I worked for a gifted man who was in way over his head. He had never pastored a multi-staffed church. He had never been surrounded by a board of deacons who were so adept at business and organization. And he had never had to head an explosive church.
On top of all that, we were almost forced into a building program within his first two years of service—a building program that would more than double the facilities. Anyone will tell you that a building program can overwhelm the most seasoned pastors. Frankly, I think he felt claustrophobic in the straight-jacket of administration.
He would stay away from the office for weeks—sometimes months—at a time. But that didn’t work for the deacon businessmen to whom he answered. So every now and then he would show up to micro-manage every aspect and department of the church. But that would only last for a short time. And during the long stretches in between, the rest of us on staff would have to fend for ourselves, make our own decisions, do the best we could, and lean upon one another. Eventually, we learned that many of his inadequacies were being blamed on us.
So, I had a choice to make. If I wanted to properly defend myself and preserve my job, I could have mounted a convincing campaign to have the guy fired based on so many things—things like incompetence, deception, and gross negligence. But I knew the experience of David and what the scriptures had to say about touching God’s anointed, no matter how unscrupulous he had been. Ultimately, I decided it was time to go rather than rat him out or continue to tacitly condone his behavior.
We left Georgia, returned to Oklahoma, took a $22,000 a year cut, and walked away. Not long after that, the pastor left the church and left the pastoral ministry. I was praying that this would be my one and only “Saul” experience. It was. This bad relationship was followed by several very good ones. I learned much from the next three pastors I worked for. They turned out to be very different from the first.

First Churches

Every person who lives as long as I have has a long list of experiences that contribute to the totality of his knowledge and understanding. For people who spend years in the profession of ministry, those experiences are usually associated with churches and pastors for whom they have worked.
Now, I don’t have the resources or the inclination to do a survey of any real significance or sample size like George Barna. But, considering the anecdotal evidence I have collected from the people I know, often the most difficult experience in anyone’s ministry is their first church.
I don’t know if it’s some kind of ongoing weeding-out process that God does or if all my friends and I are special, but so many guys I know had their worst experience of their whole ministries at their first church.
My experience was not the exception.
The first church in which I worked full time was a place in Atlanta, Georgia. I will not name any names in order to protect both the innocent and the guilty. But it was the best and the worst—great people, beautiful city, priceless opportunity, huge budget, and incompetent administration.
First of all, in Atlanta, church is big business. The competition is ruthless; the churches are huge; and the pastors and even some of the parishioners are bigger than life. Names in that city include: Dr. Charles Stanley, Bishop Earl Paulk, Andy Stanley, Dr. Paul L. Walker, Mylon LeFevre, New Song, Babbie Mason, and many others.
Amazingly, the little church I went to work for decided to throw its hat in the ring. We decided to try and compete with the big boys.
I was hired as a music minister. But I joined a huge staff considering the size of the congregation—Pastor, Christian Education Director, Youth Pastor, Music Minister, and Minister of Recreation (yeah, I know) plus several fulltime and part-time support staff. This was for about 250 people. But the way they pulled this off was the fact that the church and its members were very wealthy. Some were household names that you would recognize. But I said I wouldn’t.
When we came in, it was a dying church. My first choir rehearsal was with 14 people.
Now, beginning there and continuing for many years, I found that it really helps to follow someone who is incompetent. It makes you look good. That goes for pastors too. The new, young pastor who came in and hired me was an amazing “pulpiteer.” In other words, he had a command of the language and a knowledge of the scriptures that mesmerized people. Unfortunately, his organizational skills and his one-on-one people skills sucked.
Due to the fact that the pastor and I followed people who were lacking, plus factor in our youth and exuberance, add the wealth and pride of the congregation, a children’s minister and a business administrator, and the place exploded. Little did I know that this would be my “Saul” experience.