Church Fail (Nanny State)

Instead of finding ways to facilitate the vitally important role of spiritual formation in the lives of their children, we (the church) have taken it from the uneasy parents willingly—no, anxiously. Regrettably, the church is more than ready to play nanny, taking undue ownership of their spiritual formation. Even worse, very often the church professionals unintentionally give the impression that parents shouldn’t try this at home. (Like those vapid reality shows that start with the disclaimer: “These stunts are performed by trained professionals; do not try this at home!”)

In other words, we give the impression to parents that they should leave it to the experts.

How did it get this way? (Again, just my observations.) It appears to me that the multi-staffed, mega-church model became a strategy of the church growth movement—which is all about consumerism and competition. The reason the church took the “cradle to grave,” nanny-state position in the first place is because it has become expected. Parents imply, if not state unequivocally, that if we won’t do it, they will take their business (their own children’s welfare) down the road to another church which will be more than happy to do it.

I think “bigger and better” has come at expense of our kids. I think giving parents what they want in order to keep their tithes coming “into the storehouse” is ill-advised and is costing us our children’s faith and future. Maybe I’m wrong.

Want an example?

I know of several churches (personal knowledge, not “I heard about…”) who struggle with or have given up altogether on reaching children and/or youth in their communities because of the growing number of parents who have complained about the unruly, unholy, and undisciplined masses of kids “who don’t know the first thing about how to act in church” (actual parent words).

Parents aren’t just relinquishing their kids’ discipleship; they also want to make sure that their priceless progeny remain inside the safe church bubble. And those “heathens” threaten to burst it. Instead of allowing someone to train the “church kids” how to befriend, disciple, and lead the “un-churched kids,” parents want to make sure “their kids don’t get lost in the shuffle” (yep—actual parent words).

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a mess. I know what it looks like, what it feels like. It feels out of control. It feels like the inmates have taken over the asylum. It’s like… like… “Jesus, send these people home so they can eat. They’re starting to look at us like we’re supper or something.” (Mark 6:30-44)

But Jesus said, “Feed them.”

For the disciples this was a perfect opportunity to learn how to serve these unruly Jesus groupies. And Jesus wasn’t about to let the chance slip away. In fact, it was one of the first opportunities they had to take ownership of passing on what Jesus had been living out in front of them. But the disciples were worn out on the whole multitudes thing. They were ready to send them packing so they could get a little more personal face time with Jesus.

Same thing with the church kids, their parents, and those pesky “outsiders.” They look a little rough. They don’t know how to dress. They’re loud. And the things they say and the words they use! We are so afraid that our babies might actually hear things in church that they hear every day at school. We don’t talk that way. Not here. Not in “God’s House.” (Don’t get me started.)

This kind of prejudice against outsiders is not new to the church, not by a long shot. My dad used to joke about the old “clothesline preachers” saying, “We don’t drink or smoke or chew or run around with girls who do.” Maybe we don’t. But Jesus did. (Didn’t you know that Mary Magdalene and several of the people at one of the parties Jesus attended had a smokeless tobacco addiction?)

While I’m here, I might as well just “shell down the corn and tell the God’s open truth.” If you aren’t mad already, you will be. Some parents of these sheltered church kids, specifically the parents of white daughters, became afraid that one of their young ladies might fall for a young man of color. Heaven forbid. As a man who has three (white) daughters and a best friend who is “chocolate” (his word), this kind of prejudice anywhere, but especially in the church, really ticks me off.

So secondly, the church has failed our kids in reference to our taking ownership of their spiritual formation by cheerfully replacing the parents in their most critical role. And we have done it as a part of our “church growth” strategy.

Next we observe what a failure of ownership means with regard to the kids themselves.

One More Question

In the last fifty years, the evangelical church has made several changes that, on the surface, may appear to have been for the better. For example, when I was in high school, the church I was attending made the decision to hire its first-ever full time youth pastor. We had a bunch of youth who were committed to God and literally meeting on our own. That couldn’t be good. The pastor and the board thought we needed oversight. Maybe we did.

I naively thought hiring a youth pastor was about the growing need in our congregation for adult leadership over a burgeoning group of devoted kids. However, now I know it is possible that we were just following the national trends. Turns out, maybe our church folded in accordance with parental pressure or perhaps in response to the competition of other churches like ours. Whatever the real reason, we got a youth pastor.

Quick on the heels of youth ministry came the specialty of children’s ministry. At Christian Universities you can get a degree in it nowadays. But the Children’s Church, Sunday School classes, and Vacation Bible Schools of my childhood were not run by professionals. There were women whose love and passions were teaching kids about Jesus.

When I think of my childhood, I can’t help but remember that group of ladies who devoted themselves to the children of our church. Their names and pictures belong beside the greatest of saints. They all seemed ancient to me then, but some are still alive today. Emma Thompson, Cecil Lawson, Cora Bickel, Juanita Emery, and a young one named Flora Mae Clawson. Those names don’t mean anything to you. But they mean the world to me.

What was it that caused even the smallest of churches to turn their attentions to the adolescents? I’m no historian or expert researcher, but I was there. I heard the conversations. All of this seemed to come from conclusions we had drawn from a famous statistic that was oft quoted to support the decisions we were making. Have you heard this?

85% of all people who come to Christ do so before the age of 18.

This seems to have been the over-arching stat of the last 50 years. So we concluded from our sacred research that we should do everything in our power to make sure that everyone under the age of 18 had the opportunity to come to Christ. Consequently we beefed up our church staffs (or is it staves?) to match the church down the street. And to Sunday School and Vacation Bible School and Children’s Church and Youth Services we added Youth for Christ and Young Life. And we held Fifth Quarter Fellowships and outdoor concerts and anything else we could think of to give every kid we could reach to an opportunity to come to Christ.

Nothing wrong with that, right? Right?

And the results of our actions continued to feed into our selected data of the Great Statistic which became our answer to the Great Commission. Except, well first of all I never knew where this statistic came from. Who did this research? Or was it merely anecdotal? Well, as it turns out, I don’t know if there ever was real research done 50 years ago that showed this to be true or not.

However, our efforts in the last 50 years or so have certainly made it a reality if it wasn’t before now. In fact, according to the latest research, the real number is that 85% of all people who come to Christ do so before the age of 14. So we have designed the majority of our church programs and started para-church ministries so that our years of expensive and painstaking efforts have become self-fulfilling prophecies.

Then secondly, what if we climbed the ladder too quickly? Isn’t there something more that our singular basket of hatched eggs begs? Up goes my hand.

“Excuse me; I have one more question.”

“Yes.”

“Why do we suck at reaching people over the age of 18?”

Church-Basher?

Over the last 10 years I have done a lot of self-study on the church. I have also done some deep soul-searching. As I mentioned, some of my writings have already prompted some to accuse me of being a “church basher.” Like I have some kind of beef. But nothing could be further from my heart.

I love the church. I am a product of the church. I don’t think I was conceived there (sorry, Mom), but for my whole life it was as though I was born under a pew. And, for more than 30 years I have worked in the church. The deal is not my disdain for her but my love. Therefore, my journey has taken me on a path of reflection and concern for the results of our collective efforts. But apparently if that reflection causes other people to squirm, it would be better to just keep quiet.

Obviously, that is not an option for me. Not any more. Something is dreadfully wrong. And I can’t help myself. I have to try to understand why—why it’s not working. Why is the church growing everywhere else but dying in America? Why is there such a deep and growing divide between church culture and popular culture? Why are we so reticent to recognize our decline?

These questions and many more have kept me from sleeping well over the last 10 years. And at the risk of alienating some of my dear friends within the church, I can no longer alienate my friends without.

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.

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.

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.

Business as Usual

We had a ton to be excited about. We had survived the tornado. Our square footage was twice what it had been before the destruction. And in spite of what the “experts” had told us, we were debt free. Plus we had grown from a church of about 450-500 to more than 800 and were still growing. It was heady stuff.
People would ask us, “What is the secret to your success?”
All we could say was, “Okay, you start with a tornado…”
We didn’t have a clue.
Most of you probably don’t know this, but when “preachers” get together—and when they don’t—they talk to and about each other. Sometimes they like to act like they’re happy for your success. (They may be.) But they also ask goofy questions like, “How many you runnin’, Doc?” It’s a question about church attendance, which translated means: “Tell me you’re not doing better than I am!” Followed by the moniker “Doc” which translated means, “You and I both know you don’t have a real doctorate, but in case you earned one when I wasn’t looking I’m sure it’s not the kind that helps people.”
Anyway, when you’ve had explosive growth, humility is important. Especially when you don’t have a clue what caused it. The news of our success was about as welcome to the preacher party as a hooker.
But success is a blessing and a curse. Here’s what we found out. It takes a bunch of effort to meet the expectations of 800 people. And it takes a lot of staff. And it takes a bundle of “ministries” and programs. And, it doesn’t take long to become totally exhausted.
Here’s a little something I’ve discovered. I’ve discovered that when I’m exhausted, I have a tendency to begin to contemplate the cause of my exhaustion. Something like this:
“What in the world am I doing?”
What I was doing was what was expected of me, or so I thought. Was I trying to compete with other churches our size? Was I trying to grow the church through my own effort? Nobody had asked me to do it. I just didn’t know any other way. It seemed it was just “business as usual” in the modern church.
But it wasn’t long before I began to question “business as usual.”
All of the church growth materials we had read instructed us to create vision and mission statements, something we had never done. Now I understand why that is necessary. When you hit the wall, it really helps to know why you’re killing yourself. In other words, when you know your purpose, it puts everything into perspective. I can survive almost anything if my purpose is important enough.
It was not.
In fact, I don’t think I knew what my purpose was. We never got around to writing down, let alone publishing our vision. So, whatever mission I had made up in my own head was not worth this. This wasn’t “mission impossible.” It was mission imperceptible. The best I could figure, our reason for being, my reason for working 6 and 7 days a week was to perpetuate the machine.
That was not enough.

Long Range Plans

Part of the process of deciding to rebuild and committing to stay on the same property was drawing up plans that would maximize the potential of those 10+ acres upon which Carbondale sits. Given the land we had, what is the largest size to which we could grow there? As the ideas were developed, our architect sketched out a three-phase plan.
The first phase was for the short term. This would answer the question: What will get us operating on that property again in the shortest amount of time? The second phase was a medium range plan that would get us up to the larger, more expanded size that we felt we needed as soon as we could afford it. And the third phase was the long range plan. It was the plan to construct as much building footprint, with the required adjoining parking, plus whatever infrastructure necessary in order to maximize the property.
The long range plan would include a new “sanctuary.” And that would determine just how big we could get without buying more property. Early on, it was discovered that we could likely build between a 1,200 and a 1,500 seat sanctuary and the accompanying meeting rooms, office space, and parking on that land.
Plus, we got the privilege of building a retention pond for about $85,000. This was made a requirement by the city and was officially called a “privately funded public improvement” or PFPI. In other words, we got to pay for fixing the city’s problem with drainage in our neighborhood. You can drive by and see that lovely monstrosity today. It was built before almost anything else.
This may be more than you need to know, unless you plan to build anything within the Tulsa city limits. Then it’s good stuff to hear. But here’s some more advice to go along with the above. We learned that you can fight City Hall. But you will lose.
Eventually we decided to opt for phases one and two, immediately. What’s an extra two million dollars among friends? But the third phase, the long range plan is still in the works even today.
Once the rebuild was finished and we had moved back onto the property, the details of the third phase started to take shape. We continued to meet with the architects, Paul Meyer and Gary Armbruster of Meyer Architects in Oklahoma City.
One night in the middle of all of this “long range” planning, I could not sleep. I tried everything. I tossed and turned—more like: flopped like a fish. I gave up, more than once, got up and read thinking that would make me sleepy. When that didn’t work, I tried reading the “begats” of the Old Testament. Even that didn’t work. I tried praying, begging God to kill me, tell me what he wanted, or let me sleep.
I finally decided that God was trying to get my attention.
“C’mon, God!” I pleaded. “All my friends get these elaborate dreams with deep meaning and obvious application to their current circumstances. Why can’t you do that for me? At least I would get to sleep!”
But no, not for me. Beside the fact that all my dreams are stupid, I finally surmised this was supposed to be some kind of direct encounter. I’m a little dense at times. At last, I gave in.
“Okay, God. What is it you want to tell me?”
Now, you would think that would be all the capitulation that God would need. And that he would just spit it out. I mean, believe me, I was all ears. But no. We were only half way through the night. And this was going to take all night.
I began my humble contrition by kneeling in the den by the couch upon which I had been sitting to read. No need to bother Vicki any more than I already had. She had mostly slept through my flopping anyway. I stopped begging and just shut up. Although, every now and then my brain would involuntarily scream, “What?!” In the deafening silence, I was trying to find a comfortable position from which I could hear the voice of God. In the process, I tried every position in the Yoga book and a few others I made up. Finally I ended up on my knees with my back arched over and the top of my head on the floor like a contortionist Muslim praying toward Mecca hell.
I wish I could tell you that I emerged from that horrible night with a lovely, illuminating, and Divine Word. I wish I could tell you that after that night everything changed. But none of that happened. However, while waiting to hear something really important, I couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid “long range plan.”
Specifically, the phrase that kept coming back to me was, “What will the church look like in 10 to 20 years?” So, I kept straining like a constipated man to come up with an answer to that question. And the only answer I could come up with was formulated out of the context in which we were already operating.
“Perhaps we ought to build something more like a theatre instead of a church sanctuary,” I thought. This was in keeping with our new emphasis on music and elaborate productions. So I envisioned a full production stage with fly-in scenery walls, multiple curtains, catwalks, and a sophisticated array of sound and lights. I even dreamed of an orchestra pit on hydraulics that would raise and lower into a basement rehearsal room. Some of those ideas actually got incorporated into the new sanctuary plans.
It never occurred to me back then that it was the question. The question was all I was supposed to take with me that night. I almost developed an aneurism trying to come up with an answer. But my answer was not the point. It would still be several more years before I would ask that question in a different context.
What will the church look like in 10 to 20 years?

No Real Change

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.