Looking for a Sign
The pastor who gives his town what they're looking for.
by Steve Molin
In the year since we installed our back-lit message board, we've become known as "the church with the sign." The first few messages were of the white-bread variety—"Join us for Lenten services" and such. But when I was gone for a week, I posted this message: "Pastor on vacation. Now is a good time to visit." When I returned, the sign read: "Shhhh! He's back!"
The response was incredible. People began to drive by our church just to see what the sign said. Members began describing their church as "You know, the one with the sign."
Just a bit of attitude
Three factors make for a noticeable message: humor, timing, and cultural relevance.
When we set a record for consecutive rainy days, the sign said: "Hey Noah, still got those blueprints?"
During our local Lumberjack Days festival, we posted: "Seek, knock, and axe."
When the star of our professional football team announced that he didn't play hard every play, but rather "played when he wanted to play," we responded: "I do a sign when I want to do a sign. The Sign Guy." And when we announced: "Sign Guy fired! Job opening," we actually had two people come in to apply.
And when Green Bay lost the NFC championship, we announced: "Packer fans—Counseling available here." It was all done in fun.
But there are times when only a serious message is appropriate. "Hope is born" was our Christmas message. For Easter: "Grass. The river. Jesus. All have risen!" And by noon on September 11, we implored people: "Stop everything and pray."
Does it bring them in?
As I was changing the sign one morning, a man appeared from nowhere. "Are you the Sign Guy?" he asked.
"Who wants to know?" I responded, wondering if he liked or hated our sign.
"I love your signs!" he said. "I don't go to church; I'll probably never go to church. But I drive out of my way to read your church sign every week." He told me his name was Sam.
The following week, I posted: "A guy named Sam loves our sign!" Just before the Sunday evening service, there was a knock at my office door, and a member said, "Pastor Steve, there's a guy named Sam here to see you."
"Does he have a gun?" I asked. No, he had a camera! When he saw me, he gave me a hug.
"I love the sign; I took a picture of it to show my family and friends!"
"You know, Sam," I said, "You really need to worship with us some Sunday."
"I think I might just do that," he replied. No Sam sighting so far, but I remain hopeful.
We continue to post a new sign every week. Almost 9,000 cars pass our church every day, and we hope to catch their attention long enough to share the grace of God, in 15 words or less. The most important thing we can say is "Welcome! God loves you, and so do we!"
Open Invitation: On the same day Gov. Jesse Ventura closed the governor's mansion because of a budget shortfall, "Good Morning America" took its roadtrip to Stillwater, Minnesota. Charlie and Diane got the word and met Jesse for breakfast. And the sign was featured in the St. Paul Pioneer Press.
The Sign Guy's Favorites
Looking for a sign God loves you?
Okay, God loves you!
Sign broken.
Come inside for message.
Christmas — Easter.
Why not stop in between holidays?
Plenty of front row seats available.
Steve Molin is senior pastor of Our Savior's Lutheran Church in Stillwater, Minnesota.
Originally published in Leadership journal, July 1, 2002.
Copyright © 2002 by the author or Christianity Today International/Leadership Journal.
Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
Summer 2002, Vol. XXIV, No. 3, Page 78
why we lost trust in church leaadership?
Can I Trust You? (free sample)
by Angie Ward
Strengthening the three legs of trust.
See "Vulnerability" Training Pack
Topics: Character, Communication, Integrity, Vulnerability
Filters: Church board, Elder, Management, Pastor
Purpose: Ministry
References: None
Date Added: September 23, 2009
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I just don't understand," Tom lamented. "My board is saying they don't trust me. But I'm not dishonest, and I would never intentionally do anything to hurt my church because God clearly called me to plant Community Fellowship."
Tom didn't know what to do, but he definitely knew something wasn't quite right. Although his church was experiencing explosive growth, Tom was perplexed by criticisms of his ministry at the leadership level. Board meetings were growing increasingly tense, and questions of Tom's integrity became more frequent. The more insecure he felt, the less he communicated with his board, which led to even louder murmuring among those "in the know" at the church. But Tom had no idea how this had happened, or what could be done to change it.
Tom's situation is not unique. In my work with churches and ministry leaders, I have frequently discovered an underlying current of mistrust within the organization, a current that subtly but surely erodes a church's foundation.
Trust is critical to a church's health and, ultimately, to its ministry effectiveness. When people in a church don't trust each other or their leaders, the church becomes a diseased organism that will poison those who come into contact with it, or shrivel up and stop producing fruit—often times both.
And while mistrust can and does exist at all levels within a church, its leaders generally set the tone for organizational health. Unfortunately, many leaders do not realize that trust has several key components. This misunderstanding becomes clear in situations like Tom's. Often times, when a leader is told that she is not trustworthy, she mistakenly takes it to mean that she is being accused of dishonesty or deceit.
But I've become convinced that a leader's (or group of leaders') credibility stands on not just one, but three legs; when any one of those three legs is broken or even wobbly, trust quickly erodes; a leader's credibility is called into question, and the church's health is compromised.
These three legs are character, competence, and communication.
1. Character.
This component of trust is the most obvious, and the one that is most often singularly equated with trust. Character can be defined as a leader's sense of moral fortitude, an inner compass that determines how a person acts when no one else is looking, and it is often described externally as a person's reputation. In ministry, there is no dispute that great leaders are people of good repute who exhibit strong, godly character. A person of weak character, on the other hand, will by definition be dishonest or double-tongued.
2. Competence.
Even if a leader demonstrates honest and trustworthy character, he or she might not be competent for the task at hand. In Tom's case, he was an amazing and truly inspiring visionary, but he was not at all gifted in the areas of strategy and day-to-day execution. In these areas, Tom was not trustworthy. It's not that he was dishonest, but he was unreliable—not as deep-seated as a true character flaw, but a variation of untrustworthiness nonetheless. As a result, even though his character was above reproach, trust in his leadership began to break down.
3. Communication.
The final leg of trust is communication, and in my experience, this is often the most easily overlooked element of trust, because it exists at the most basic, everyday level of leadership. But it is precisely because it exists at such a basic level that communication is so foundational to leadership trust.
If a leader does not communicate well (and by "well" I mean with honesty and frequency at all levels in the organization and along all stages of an issue or task), colleagues and congregation alike will start to wonder if a deeper problem exists. And it is this first question that starts to weaken the foundation of trust.
Now, one incident of mis- (or missing) communication generally isn't enough to cast a cloud over otherwise impeccable character and competence. However, a pattern of spotty communication allows doubts to surface: "If Pastor is not communicating about this, what else is he withholding from us?" Trust erodes, and eventually character itself gets called into question.
I know of more than one ministry leader who has been accused of deception (which is a character issue), when the entire problem could have been avoided with more diligent communication around the matter at hand, be it a fundraising campaign or other financial matter, a moral issue, or the process of change within the church. In Tom's case, his communication "sin" was one of omission; fortunately, he recognized the problem in time to reverse most, although not all, of the damage that had been done to that point.
For most leaders, as with Tom, the first step is simply awareness. As a ministry leader, recognize the importance of trust. Next, learn the difference between the three legs, and their different roles in facilitating trust. Finally, learn to recognize when one or more of the legs are broken or in danger of breaking down in your ministry, and how to repair them. The result will be a stronger foundation, a healthier church, and greater ministry effectiveness.
Adapted from Leadership journal, © 2006 Christianity Today International. For more articles like this, visit www.Leadershipjournal.net.
by Angie Ward
Strengthening the three legs of trust.
See "Vulnerability" Training Pack
Topics: Character, Communication, Integrity, Vulnerability
Filters: Church board, Elder, Management, Pastor
Purpose: Ministry
References: None
Date Added: September 23, 2009
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I just don't understand," Tom lamented. "My board is saying they don't trust me. But I'm not dishonest, and I would never intentionally do anything to hurt my church because God clearly called me to plant Community Fellowship."
Tom didn't know what to do, but he definitely knew something wasn't quite right. Although his church was experiencing explosive growth, Tom was perplexed by criticisms of his ministry at the leadership level. Board meetings were growing increasingly tense, and questions of Tom's integrity became more frequent. The more insecure he felt, the less he communicated with his board, which led to even louder murmuring among those "in the know" at the church. But Tom had no idea how this had happened, or what could be done to change it.
Tom's situation is not unique. In my work with churches and ministry leaders, I have frequently discovered an underlying current of mistrust within the organization, a current that subtly but surely erodes a church's foundation.
Trust is critical to a church's health and, ultimately, to its ministry effectiveness. When people in a church don't trust each other or their leaders, the church becomes a diseased organism that will poison those who come into contact with it, or shrivel up and stop producing fruit—often times both.
And while mistrust can and does exist at all levels within a church, its leaders generally set the tone for organizational health. Unfortunately, many leaders do not realize that trust has several key components. This misunderstanding becomes clear in situations like Tom's. Often times, when a leader is told that she is not trustworthy, she mistakenly takes it to mean that she is being accused of dishonesty or deceit.
But I've become convinced that a leader's (or group of leaders') credibility stands on not just one, but three legs; when any one of those three legs is broken or even wobbly, trust quickly erodes; a leader's credibility is called into question, and the church's health is compromised.
These three legs are character, competence, and communication.
1. Character.
This component of trust is the most obvious, and the one that is most often singularly equated with trust. Character can be defined as a leader's sense of moral fortitude, an inner compass that determines how a person acts when no one else is looking, and it is often described externally as a person's reputation. In ministry, there is no dispute that great leaders are people of good repute who exhibit strong, godly character. A person of weak character, on the other hand, will by definition be dishonest or double-tongued.
2. Competence.
Even if a leader demonstrates honest and trustworthy character, he or she might not be competent for the task at hand. In Tom's case, he was an amazing and truly inspiring visionary, but he was not at all gifted in the areas of strategy and day-to-day execution. In these areas, Tom was not trustworthy. It's not that he was dishonest, but he was unreliable—not as deep-seated as a true character flaw, but a variation of untrustworthiness nonetheless. As a result, even though his character was above reproach, trust in his leadership began to break down.
3. Communication.
The final leg of trust is communication, and in my experience, this is often the most easily overlooked element of trust, because it exists at the most basic, everyday level of leadership. But it is precisely because it exists at such a basic level that communication is so foundational to leadership trust.
If a leader does not communicate well (and by "well" I mean with honesty and frequency at all levels in the organization and along all stages of an issue or task), colleagues and congregation alike will start to wonder if a deeper problem exists. And it is this first question that starts to weaken the foundation of trust.
Now, one incident of mis- (or missing) communication generally isn't enough to cast a cloud over otherwise impeccable character and competence. However, a pattern of spotty communication allows doubts to surface: "If Pastor is not communicating about this, what else is he withholding from us?" Trust erodes, and eventually character itself gets called into question.
I know of more than one ministry leader who has been accused of deception (which is a character issue), when the entire problem could have been avoided with more diligent communication around the matter at hand, be it a fundraising campaign or other financial matter, a moral issue, or the process of change within the church. In Tom's case, his communication "sin" was one of omission; fortunately, he recognized the problem in time to reverse most, although not all, of the damage that had been done to that point.
For most leaders, as with Tom, the first step is simply awareness. As a ministry leader, recognize the importance of trust. Next, learn the difference between the three legs, and their different roles in facilitating trust. Finally, learn to recognize when one or more of the legs are broken or in danger of breaking down in your ministry, and how to repair them. The result will be a stronger foundation, a healthier church, and greater ministry effectiveness.
Adapted from Leadership journal, © 2006 Christianity Today International. For more articles like this, visit www.Leadershipjournal.net.
gap in the church
Adapted from Christianity Today
When Pastor Rehoboam took over the flock after the long tenure of his father, change management was his number one challenge. Everyone had different ideas about how he should lead the community. Some of the members of the congregation met with him to politely suggest some policy changes focused largely on the optimal intensity of membership requirements.
Rehoboam requested more time and decided to meet with his leadership team. He split the team into two groups: the rapidly aging Boomer leaders and the emerging leaders. Not surprisingly, they gave him diametrically opposite advice. He took the advice of the leaders from his own generation and crafted a compelling strategy ("My father scourged you with whips; I will scourge you with scorpions.") People by and large did not get on board with the new vision.
When Rehoboam sent out a staff member named Adoniram, who was in charge of equipping ministries (the TNIV translates it "forced labor"), the people stoned him. There was a big church split, there were serious worship wars (and in those days worship wars were worship wars), and after two and a half millennia, things still have not completely healed.
The moral of the story is that you should have all generations represented in a single leadership team. Actually, you could probably draw other insights from the passage (2 Chronicles 10) as well. But it is striking that even in the Bible, one of the ways that human community becomes disrupted is the generational divide.
Scratching a niche
If the generational divide was a gap then, it is a canyon now. We are niched by generation as never before. Thirty years ago, families had one TV with three channels; and if people watched something, they watched the same something together. Today there are more channels than you can count, and they no longer broadcast; they narrowcast to a little sliver in the age spectrum.
I serve at a 135-year-old Presbyterian church with a wide span of ages in the congregation and a leadership team with members who range in age from 26 (not me) to 68 (also not me). They are a fabulous group of human beings. Navigating change wisely is the subtext beneath almost every conversation we have. I will tell you what we are learning about generations working together.
We are making it up as we go along
If there are not regular disagreements, i know, as a leader, i've not engaged people fully.Multi-generational church ministry in our day is uncharted territory. In past centuries, because culture changed more slowly, when people entered the church, they entered church culture. They sang common music and spoke a common language. Today, church life has largely been contextualized to reach people in popular culture. But pop culture has fragmented into all kinds of micro-cultures. Generations are generally segregated by media, clothes, music, entertainment, and technology. Trying to reach different generations simultaneously has become like trying to design one church that will work in both Spain and France.
I was looking at church websites not long ago and noticed a fascinating dynamic. Many new churches have been formed with "multi-cultural" as part of their DNA and a stated value. But I have not yet seen a new church plant with "multi-generational" in its vision statement. In all the cases I read (in an admittedly non-scientific sample), "multi-generational" in a church's self-description was a euphemism for "we are an aging church that wants to have more young people attending so that we don't die, but we don't want to change enough to actually attract any of them to come."
Churches that do best at multi-generational community have tended to be smaller churches from Amish or Mennonite traditions, in which children are acculturated into the common life of the church from early childhood. If this hasn't happened by the time they're twelve or so, they are already so shaped by their own generational "micro-culture" that it's not likely to happen at all.
When we began to talk about multi-generational community, one of our (younger) staff leaders asked a terrific question: what does it mean? How do we know if we're successful at it? One of the most common ways to define it is in terms of a worship service. By this definition, effective intergenerational worship would be a congregation of diverse ages sitting through a service of mixed styles that displeases everyone equally.
But another way of defining it is relational. How many relationships with people of different generations do folks at our church have? This leads us to look at the kind of activities and events that are actually relationship building.
This past week at our church, we held Compassion Weekend. We canceled our regular services and worshipped God by serving throughout the San Francisco Bay area. One of the highlights of the weekend is the relationships that form when young and old serve together. Musical tastes often separate people; serving brings them together. We had a 98-year-old woman serving at a Habitat for Humanity construction project. We had a two-year-old helping with folks building kits for AIDS caregivers in Africa.
We've also had an increasing number of people signing up for multi-generational small groups. One of the biggest requests in churches is also one of the least delivered—intergenerational mentoring. But you can't get mentored by a stranger. Finding a mentor is like finding a spouse; it works best if you start out by being friends first.
We must get past terminal niceness
There is an old saying in the church world that "the issue is never the issue; the issue is always control." And when it comes to generations working together, the question of control is never more than about a micron below the surface.
We had a conversation around our leadership circle recently about food in the sanctuary. It was fascinating to track the discussion. To some, bringing food into the sanctuary communicates a dumbing down of worship, a devaluing of sacred space, and a loss of transcendence and wonder. The chief justice doesn't snack on Raisinettes while he's swearing in the new president.
To others, being able to bring coffee or a bagel into church communicates a sense of community, warmth, and acceptance that is desperately needed. It's a way of defusing the expectation of a stuffy, formal, inauthentic, foreign experience that tells me I'm not welcome and the church doesn't care.
But underneath the issues of food, or dress, or style, often lies the deeper issue of control.
One researcher put it like this: we often think people are opposed to change, but that's not quite true. Everybody changes all the time—particularly when they are the ones proposing the change. It helps to distinguish between two types of change: technical change and social change.
Technical change has to do with logistics and props. Switching from typewriters to computers, or pews to individual chairs, or hard copies to email are technical changes.
Social change has to do with who is making the decision. Social change has to do with who is in control.
Any time a technical change is made, it raises the issue of social change. Am I and my group gaining or losing our influence? Who gets to call the shots around here? If my influence is receding, then probably my sense of ownership and commitment will diminish as well. This is why trying to sneak changes past people is generally a bad idea.
Recently we had a conversation about changes in worship at a service where I thought there hadn't been any change. But someone noted that a worship leader that used to be sitting behind a keyboard is now usually standing behind a raised keyboard. It had not occurred to me that this counted as change. But to somebody else, it was a step in a direction she hadn't gotten to vote on.
This also means that on the leadership team, we have to embrace conflict. Where there is a difference of opinion that falls out along generational lines, we have to be willing to enter the tunnel of chaos. If there are not regular, passionate, energized disagreements about what our future should look like, I know I have not done my job as a leader to engage people fully.
We don't know what we don't know
I was visiting a large church in southern California not long ago. The band was leading a worship song that wasn't just pushing the envelope, it actually left the envelope altogether and was Fed-exing itself into tomorrow. The senior pastor was flushed with irritation that they would do a song that so obviously interfered with everyone's worship.
Until he looked at his daughter, who happened to be visiting that weekend.
Tears were streaming down her face. She told him later how that song resonated with and expressed the worship of her heart like nothing she had ever heard. She told him how proud she was that the church would allow worship that resonates with her generation.
Those of us who are older tend to under-estimate the difference between generations. We think that what feels comfortable to us will not—or should not—be a barrier to those who are younger. Those of us who are younger tend to over-estimate the difference between generations. We feel as if those who are older are a different species and could never understand our experience. One of the most important concepts along these lines has to do with the notion of connection. Who feels "connected" at our church?
I used to think that connection had primarily to do with relationships. But it does not. Connectedness is a separate notion. It has to do with whether or not, when I enter a church, it feels like a place for "people like me." How people dress, how they talk, what the music is like—many details create a sense of connection or disconnection.
If I feel connected, I am likely to overlook how disconnected people of another generation may feel. So we have to have constant conversations about the experience of people in our generation at our church. We will never be able to make all people feel totally connected at all services. But at least we have to be aware of the dynamics.
We recently did a survey to gauge our church's effectiveness at ministering to families and people of differing generations. In talking about the survey, I mentioned from the platform we needed feedback about generational issues. Following the service, a number of attendees approached staff people to comment on aspects of the service that they did not like. When I heard about this, my first inclination was to feel deflated and defensive.
But another very wise staff member immediately responded, "That's great! Now the conversation has begun." And I realized the importance of her mindset. We can never move to where we want to be without speaking honestly about where we are.
How another generation needs me
One of the younger women on our leadership team, a recent seminary grad with tons of leadership gifts, was speaking recently about her desire to contribute.
"I want to be developed," she said. "I know I have lots to learn, but I want to have some people who believe in me. I want to be part of a team where people are cheering me on and helping me soar. And I want to do the same for them."
As someone who has been involved in church ministry for almost thirty years, it struck me that I get a chance now to do for younger team members what mentors did for me. I thought about how much joy there is in helping someone discover her gifts and flourish.
At the same time, one of the older members of our team talked about how much energy he received by sitting around the circle with people who were decades younger. I recalled a conversation with a man in his eighties who had done church ministry all his life but had never reached out to younger people. He spoke of his sadness and loneliness now that his contemporaries were dying off.
Churches do not hit the multi-generational crisis until after their first thirty years or so. Churches often begin by targeting young people, and may attract a fair number of older folks who want to be around the energy.
But the real challenge comes when the core that the church was built around begins to age, and the people the church needs to reach are different from the people the church already has. It's one thing if I go to a "younger" church because I choose to. It's another thing if my church decides to go "younger" while I'm there.
It's up to the older generation to figure out how to hand the faith to the younger generation.
Some time ago I read something about the delegation of responsibility, and it used this analogy: the person who owns the problem is the person who has "a monkey on his back." The gist of the article was a warning to be careful if you're a manager not to accept monkeys from others. If a subordinate tells you, "Here's this problem," and you respond, "I'll think about it and get back to you," you've got the monkey.
Who's got the monkey now?
In churches, we have to be clear about who's got the monkey. God's plan is that wisdom and love and especially knowledge of him be passed from one generation to another. That means the church needs to recognize which generation has the monkey of faith transmission. The monkey rests with the older generation.
Many different methods have been used over the centuries. In Moses' day, those who were older would write commands on gates and doors. In the book of Joshua, Israel is eager to move on after crossing the Jordan, but God has them make a pile of twelve boulders. "In the future, when your children ask you, 'What do these stones mean?' tell them…'Israel crossed the Jordan on dry ground. He did this so that all the peoples of the earth might know that the hand of the Lord is powerful and so that you might always fear the lord your god'" (Josh. 4:21-24).
A few hundred years ago, the Heidelberg Catechism asked children: What is your only comfort in life and in death? Answer: That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ."
Sometimes churches used stained glass windows. (One pastor I know asked children during a children's sermon to look at their large stained glass window and identify: who is that figure holding two tablets? A seven-year-old girl answered, "Moses." The pastor asked, "How did you know?" "Because under his picture," she said, "it says, 'Moses.'") When I was young, the church used a brand new technology called flannelgraph. The church has used many different methods. But it's up to the older generation to figure out how to get it done.
We can't say, "We were faithful; good luck to whoever comes next."
We can't say, "Here are the methods we responded to when we were young. If you look like us, dress like us, sing like us, talk like us, then we'll pass on the faith and you can know God. Otherwise, we'll just let you drift into an eternity apart from God."
So as a leadership team, we have to have a firm commitment from each person that the big issue is not Who gets to determine what's cool? or Who is it that gives the money that supports the church?' or Who carries the DNA? The question is: How do we pass the torch?
God is the God of every generation.
Sooner or later every church hits the generation issue. We are richer people when we work together. Our relationships are enhanced when we have multiple generations around the table.
God's plan is not for the church to be a one-generation operation with a 30-year shelf life. It is a richer thing to be part of a church that embraces multi-generational ministry and multi-generational leadership.
John Ortberg is pastor of Menlo Park Presbyterian Church in California, and editor at large of Leadership.
Copyright © 2009 by the author or Christianity Today International/Leadership Journal.
Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
When Pastor Rehoboam took over the flock after the long tenure of his father, change management was his number one challenge. Everyone had different ideas about how he should lead the community. Some of the members of the congregation met with him to politely suggest some policy changes focused largely on the optimal intensity of membership requirements.
Rehoboam requested more time and decided to meet with his leadership team. He split the team into two groups: the rapidly aging Boomer leaders and the emerging leaders. Not surprisingly, they gave him diametrically opposite advice. He took the advice of the leaders from his own generation and crafted a compelling strategy ("My father scourged you with whips; I will scourge you with scorpions.") People by and large did not get on board with the new vision.
When Rehoboam sent out a staff member named Adoniram, who was in charge of equipping ministries (the TNIV translates it "forced labor"), the people stoned him. There was a big church split, there were serious worship wars (and in those days worship wars were worship wars), and after two and a half millennia, things still have not completely healed.
The moral of the story is that you should have all generations represented in a single leadership team. Actually, you could probably draw other insights from the passage (2 Chronicles 10) as well. But it is striking that even in the Bible, one of the ways that human community becomes disrupted is the generational divide.
Scratching a niche
If the generational divide was a gap then, it is a canyon now. We are niched by generation as never before. Thirty years ago, families had one TV with three channels; and if people watched something, they watched the same something together. Today there are more channels than you can count, and they no longer broadcast; they narrowcast to a little sliver in the age spectrum.
I serve at a 135-year-old Presbyterian church with a wide span of ages in the congregation and a leadership team with members who range in age from 26 (not me) to 68 (also not me). They are a fabulous group of human beings. Navigating change wisely is the subtext beneath almost every conversation we have. I will tell you what we are learning about generations working together.
We are making it up as we go along
If there are not regular disagreements, i know, as a leader, i've not engaged people fully.Multi-generational church ministry in our day is uncharted territory. In past centuries, because culture changed more slowly, when people entered the church, they entered church culture. They sang common music and spoke a common language. Today, church life has largely been contextualized to reach people in popular culture. But pop culture has fragmented into all kinds of micro-cultures. Generations are generally segregated by media, clothes, music, entertainment, and technology. Trying to reach different generations simultaneously has become like trying to design one church that will work in both Spain and France.
I was looking at church websites not long ago and noticed a fascinating dynamic. Many new churches have been formed with "multi-cultural" as part of their DNA and a stated value. But I have not yet seen a new church plant with "multi-generational" in its vision statement. In all the cases I read (in an admittedly non-scientific sample), "multi-generational" in a church's self-description was a euphemism for "we are an aging church that wants to have more young people attending so that we don't die, but we don't want to change enough to actually attract any of them to come."
Churches that do best at multi-generational community have tended to be smaller churches from Amish or Mennonite traditions, in which children are acculturated into the common life of the church from early childhood. If this hasn't happened by the time they're twelve or so, they are already so shaped by their own generational "micro-culture" that it's not likely to happen at all.
When we began to talk about multi-generational community, one of our (younger) staff leaders asked a terrific question: what does it mean? How do we know if we're successful at it? One of the most common ways to define it is in terms of a worship service. By this definition, effective intergenerational worship would be a congregation of diverse ages sitting through a service of mixed styles that displeases everyone equally.
But another way of defining it is relational. How many relationships with people of different generations do folks at our church have? This leads us to look at the kind of activities and events that are actually relationship building.
This past week at our church, we held Compassion Weekend. We canceled our regular services and worshipped God by serving throughout the San Francisco Bay area. One of the highlights of the weekend is the relationships that form when young and old serve together. Musical tastes often separate people; serving brings them together. We had a 98-year-old woman serving at a Habitat for Humanity construction project. We had a two-year-old helping with folks building kits for AIDS caregivers in Africa.
We've also had an increasing number of people signing up for multi-generational small groups. One of the biggest requests in churches is also one of the least delivered—intergenerational mentoring. But you can't get mentored by a stranger. Finding a mentor is like finding a spouse; it works best if you start out by being friends first.
We must get past terminal niceness
There is an old saying in the church world that "the issue is never the issue; the issue is always control." And when it comes to generations working together, the question of control is never more than about a micron below the surface.
We had a conversation around our leadership circle recently about food in the sanctuary. It was fascinating to track the discussion. To some, bringing food into the sanctuary communicates a dumbing down of worship, a devaluing of sacred space, and a loss of transcendence and wonder. The chief justice doesn't snack on Raisinettes while he's swearing in the new president.
To others, being able to bring coffee or a bagel into church communicates a sense of community, warmth, and acceptance that is desperately needed. It's a way of defusing the expectation of a stuffy, formal, inauthentic, foreign experience that tells me I'm not welcome and the church doesn't care.
But underneath the issues of food, or dress, or style, often lies the deeper issue of control.
One researcher put it like this: we often think people are opposed to change, but that's not quite true. Everybody changes all the time—particularly when they are the ones proposing the change. It helps to distinguish between two types of change: technical change and social change.
Technical change has to do with logistics and props. Switching from typewriters to computers, or pews to individual chairs, or hard copies to email are technical changes.
Social change has to do with who is making the decision. Social change has to do with who is in control.
Any time a technical change is made, it raises the issue of social change. Am I and my group gaining or losing our influence? Who gets to call the shots around here? If my influence is receding, then probably my sense of ownership and commitment will diminish as well. This is why trying to sneak changes past people is generally a bad idea.
Recently we had a conversation about changes in worship at a service where I thought there hadn't been any change. But someone noted that a worship leader that used to be sitting behind a keyboard is now usually standing behind a raised keyboard. It had not occurred to me that this counted as change. But to somebody else, it was a step in a direction she hadn't gotten to vote on.
This also means that on the leadership team, we have to embrace conflict. Where there is a difference of opinion that falls out along generational lines, we have to be willing to enter the tunnel of chaos. If there are not regular, passionate, energized disagreements about what our future should look like, I know I have not done my job as a leader to engage people fully.
We don't know what we don't know
I was visiting a large church in southern California not long ago. The band was leading a worship song that wasn't just pushing the envelope, it actually left the envelope altogether and was Fed-exing itself into tomorrow. The senior pastor was flushed with irritation that they would do a song that so obviously interfered with everyone's worship.
Until he looked at his daughter, who happened to be visiting that weekend.
Tears were streaming down her face. She told him later how that song resonated with and expressed the worship of her heart like nothing she had ever heard. She told him how proud she was that the church would allow worship that resonates with her generation.
Those of us who are older tend to under-estimate the difference between generations. We think that what feels comfortable to us will not—or should not—be a barrier to those who are younger. Those of us who are younger tend to over-estimate the difference between generations. We feel as if those who are older are a different species and could never understand our experience. One of the most important concepts along these lines has to do with the notion of connection. Who feels "connected" at our church?
I used to think that connection had primarily to do with relationships. But it does not. Connectedness is a separate notion. It has to do with whether or not, when I enter a church, it feels like a place for "people like me." How people dress, how they talk, what the music is like—many details create a sense of connection or disconnection.
If I feel connected, I am likely to overlook how disconnected people of another generation may feel. So we have to have constant conversations about the experience of people in our generation at our church. We will never be able to make all people feel totally connected at all services. But at least we have to be aware of the dynamics.
We recently did a survey to gauge our church's effectiveness at ministering to families and people of differing generations. In talking about the survey, I mentioned from the platform we needed feedback about generational issues. Following the service, a number of attendees approached staff people to comment on aspects of the service that they did not like. When I heard about this, my first inclination was to feel deflated and defensive.
But another very wise staff member immediately responded, "That's great! Now the conversation has begun." And I realized the importance of her mindset. We can never move to where we want to be without speaking honestly about where we are.
How another generation needs me
One of the younger women on our leadership team, a recent seminary grad with tons of leadership gifts, was speaking recently about her desire to contribute.
"I want to be developed," she said. "I know I have lots to learn, but I want to have some people who believe in me. I want to be part of a team where people are cheering me on and helping me soar. And I want to do the same for them."
As someone who has been involved in church ministry for almost thirty years, it struck me that I get a chance now to do for younger team members what mentors did for me. I thought about how much joy there is in helping someone discover her gifts and flourish.
At the same time, one of the older members of our team talked about how much energy he received by sitting around the circle with people who were decades younger. I recalled a conversation with a man in his eighties who had done church ministry all his life but had never reached out to younger people. He spoke of his sadness and loneliness now that his contemporaries were dying off.
Churches do not hit the multi-generational crisis until after their first thirty years or so. Churches often begin by targeting young people, and may attract a fair number of older folks who want to be around the energy.
But the real challenge comes when the core that the church was built around begins to age, and the people the church needs to reach are different from the people the church already has. It's one thing if I go to a "younger" church because I choose to. It's another thing if my church decides to go "younger" while I'm there.
It's up to the older generation to figure out how to hand the faith to the younger generation.
Some time ago I read something about the delegation of responsibility, and it used this analogy: the person who owns the problem is the person who has "a monkey on his back." The gist of the article was a warning to be careful if you're a manager not to accept monkeys from others. If a subordinate tells you, "Here's this problem," and you respond, "I'll think about it and get back to you," you've got the monkey.
Who's got the monkey now?
In churches, we have to be clear about who's got the monkey. God's plan is that wisdom and love and especially knowledge of him be passed from one generation to another. That means the church needs to recognize which generation has the monkey of faith transmission. The monkey rests with the older generation.
Many different methods have been used over the centuries. In Moses' day, those who were older would write commands on gates and doors. In the book of Joshua, Israel is eager to move on after crossing the Jordan, but God has them make a pile of twelve boulders. "In the future, when your children ask you, 'What do these stones mean?' tell them…'Israel crossed the Jordan on dry ground. He did this so that all the peoples of the earth might know that the hand of the Lord is powerful and so that you might always fear the lord your god'" (Josh. 4:21-24).
A few hundred years ago, the Heidelberg Catechism asked children: What is your only comfort in life and in death? Answer: That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ."
Sometimes churches used stained glass windows. (One pastor I know asked children during a children's sermon to look at their large stained glass window and identify: who is that figure holding two tablets? A seven-year-old girl answered, "Moses." The pastor asked, "How did you know?" "Because under his picture," she said, "it says, 'Moses.'") When I was young, the church used a brand new technology called flannelgraph. The church has used many different methods. But it's up to the older generation to figure out how to get it done.
We can't say, "We were faithful; good luck to whoever comes next."
We can't say, "Here are the methods we responded to when we were young. If you look like us, dress like us, sing like us, talk like us, then we'll pass on the faith and you can know God. Otherwise, we'll just let you drift into an eternity apart from God."
So as a leadership team, we have to have a firm commitment from each person that the big issue is not Who gets to determine what's cool? or Who is it that gives the money that supports the church?' or Who carries the DNA? The question is: How do we pass the torch?
God is the God of every generation.
Sooner or later every church hits the generation issue. We are richer people when we work together. Our relationships are enhanced when we have multiple generations around the table.
God's plan is not for the church to be a one-generation operation with a 30-year shelf life. It is a richer thing to be part of a church that embraces multi-generational ministry and multi-generational leadership.
John Ortberg is pastor of Menlo Park Presbyterian Church in California, and editor at large of Leadership.
Copyright © 2009 by the author or Christianity Today International/Leadership Journal.
Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
Fun ingredient
adapted from Christianity Today
Four days ago, I spoke with a new children's ministry director. Full of energy and halogen-bright excitement, she bubbled with the bravery needed for the role. I asked her what she felt most enthused about for the year ahead.
"Our new core team worked all summer long making changes," she said. My breathing quickened as I anticipated her description. A 1000-watt leader with a small but high-octane team can move mountains together. Oh, tell me, please, what wonderful ideas do you have planned?
"And even though the kids might not notice anything new, the educational principles we'll use will help them learn a ton," she said, and watched for my response.
I just smiled and turned away.
Okay, that's a line I borrowed from the song "American Pie" and not actually what I did. My disappointment stayed masked behind my facial expressions, and I wished her well for a few more minutes. Then I walked away and cringed.
Before you start judging me too harshly (which I might deserve), you should know that our neighbors visited this church. Their kids loathed the children's ministry program, and the family never returned—to any church, as far as we know. While I'll never know for sure, I doubt they felt let down by the educational principles behind the lesson.
Any church with serious passion about inviting new families to attend better offer an engaging children's program. Engaging for the kids. A family that doesn't typically go to church will not force sons and daughters to sit through a boring experience. It's not worth the fight.
So what's a children's ministry supposed to do? No, I'm not going to pitch constructing an indoor theme park.
Instead, build up a new value: fun.
During my years at Promiseland, the children's ministry at Willow Creek Community Church, Sue Miller taught me (and anyone who listened to her) plenty about this often-overlooked element of successful ministry. Carefully consider her wisdom, earned from many years of experience:
The reason for this value is quite simple—kids won't come back willingly if it's not fun. And they certainly won't invite their friends. An absence of fun will result in an absence of kids.
Kids pay us one of their highest compliments when they say Promiseland is fun. This is a high value to us because children are more motivated to learn in a fun-filled environment. Let's be honest—you and I are more motivated to learn and serve when we're having fun, too!
I have good news about fun—it's easy to figure out! Here's our approach: Talk to parents about what kids like to do and watch how kids play outside of church. Add surprises on Sundays because kids love surprises. Mix in celebrations. Physical activities are a must. Sprinkle in humor that they understand. We know immediately if we're hitting the fun value—smiles and bright eyes say it all.
Look for grown-up grins, too. When kids are having fun, adults will follow. And when creative elements are added to staff and volunteer team meetings, maybe a mystery game or generous amounts of chocolate (every adult involved in children's ministry likes chocolate!), the result is a spirit of community that keeps the team together and eager for future meetings. Fun is an allegiance that becomes the wonder of other ministries. Think for a moment, is there any other area of the church that can say they count fun as a core value?
Walk through Promiseland during Christmas services, and you'll see volunteer musicians and singers in the halls performing lively holiday songs for passersby. Check your child into Promiseland this weekend and he or she will start the hour at an activity area of his or her choice—possibly table games, crafts, or a competition. Sometimes we have hat weekend or a surprise party for small group leaders (spraying them with crazy string is totally optional!). Over time, fun just becomes the attitude of the ministry.
Just as with all values, fun is used to guide the ministry in pursuit of its mission—fun itself is not the mission. When children truly enjoy their time in children's ministry, the environment is set for creative, relevant Bible teaching and life-changing, intentional shepherding. An important thing to keep in mind about the fun value is the danger in assuming that activities appealing to one age group will play well in others. Geography and demographics are important, too. Fun in Illinois might have subtle, yet important, differences compared to what kids think is fun in California or Canada. (In fact, I'm certain fun is easier in California!)
A final thought about fun. When your ministry gets this value right, kids start referring to your ministry as their own. And when you hear children describing what they do in your program using the words "My church," your heart will fill with affirmation that you are not crazy for what you do: You're just having fun.
And new families will return to your church.
Adapted from Making Your Children's Ministry the Best Hour of Every Kid's Week (Zondervan, 2004).
Four days ago, I spoke with a new children's ministry director. Full of energy and halogen-bright excitement, she bubbled with the bravery needed for the role. I asked her what she felt most enthused about for the year ahead.
"Our new core team worked all summer long making changes," she said. My breathing quickened as I anticipated her description. A 1000-watt leader with a small but high-octane team can move mountains together. Oh, tell me, please, what wonderful ideas do you have planned?
"And even though the kids might not notice anything new, the educational principles we'll use will help them learn a ton," she said, and watched for my response.
I just smiled and turned away.
Okay, that's a line I borrowed from the song "American Pie" and not actually what I did. My disappointment stayed masked behind my facial expressions, and I wished her well for a few more minutes. Then I walked away and cringed.
Before you start judging me too harshly (which I might deserve), you should know that our neighbors visited this church. Their kids loathed the children's ministry program, and the family never returned—to any church, as far as we know. While I'll never know for sure, I doubt they felt let down by the educational principles behind the lesson.
Any church with serious passion about inviting new families to attend better offer an engaging children's program. Engaging for the kids. A family that doesn't typically go to church will not force sons and daughters to sit through a boring experience. It's not worth the fight.
So what's a children's ministry supposed to do? No, I'm not going to pitch constructing an indoor theme park.
Instead, build up a new value: fun.
During my years at Promiseland, the children's ministry at Willow Creek Community Church, Sue Miller taught me (and anyone who listened to her) plenty about this often-overlooked element of successful ministry. Carefully consider her wisdom, earned from many years of experience:
The reason for this value is quite simple—kids won't come back willingly if it's not fun. And they certainly won't invite their friends. An absence of fun will result in an absence of kids.
Kids pay us one of their highest compliments when they say Promiseland is fun. This is a high value to us because children are more motivated to learn in a fun-filled environment. Let's be honest—you and I are more motivated to learn and serve when we're having fun, too!
I have good news about fun—it's easy to figure out! Here's our approach: Talk to parents about what kids like to do and watch how kids play outside of church. Add surprises on Sundays because kids love surprises. Mix in celebrations. Physical activities are a must. Sprinkle in humor that they understand. We know immediately if we're hitting the fun value—smiles and bright eyes say it all.
Look for grown-up grins, too. When kids are having fun, adults will follow. And when creative elements are added to staff and volunteer team meetings, maybe a mystery game or generous amounts of chocolate (every adult involved in children's ministry likes chocolate!), the result is a spirit of community that keeps the team together and eager for future meetings. Fun is an allegiance that becomes the wonder of other ministries. Think for a moment, is there any other area of the church that can say they count fun as a core value?
Walk through Promiseland during Christmas services, and you'll see volunteer musicians and singers in the halls performing lively holiday songs for passersby. Check your child into Promiseland this weekend and he or she will start the hour at an activity area of his or her choice—possibly table games, crafts, or a competition. Sometimes we have hat weekend or a surprise party for small group leaders (spraying them with crazy string is totally optional!). Over time, fun just becomes the attitude of the ministry.
Just as with all values, fun is used to guide the ministry in pursuit of its mission—fun itself is not the mission. When children truly enjoy their time in children's ministry, the environment is set for creative, relevant Bible teaching and life-changing, intentional shepherding. An important thing to keep in mind about the fun value is the danger in assuming that activities appealing to one age group will play well in others. Geography and demographics are important, too. Fun in Illinois might have subtle, yet important, differences compared to what kids think is fun in California or Canada. (In fact, I'm certain fun is easier in California!)
A final thought about fun. When your ministry gets this value right, kids start referring to your ministry as their own. And when you hear children describing what they do in your program using the words "My church," your heart will fill with affirmation that you are not crazy for what you do: You're just having fun.
And new families will return to your church.
Adapted from Making Your Children's Ministry the Best Hour of Every Kid's Week (Zondervan, 2004).
Sense of guilt
adapted from Christianity Today
Survivors of some horrible plague or battle often find themselves wracked with guilt: Why did I live while so many died? Though I had no battle scars, I used to feel a similar sense of guilt. I married the only woman I've ever loved. We have three terrific children. I have a secure job that I love and that pays well. Sometimes I would ask God: Why have you been so kind to me? Why have I gotten such an easy life?
I don't ask those questions anymore.
A little over nine years ago, while driving home from a family vacation, my car got a flat tire. When I started to change it, something nasty happened at the base of my back. Ever since, my lower back and the top half of my right leg have hurt. After two operations, dozens of injections, physical therapy, psychotherapy, and thousands of pills, my back and right leg hurt every waking moment, and most of those moments, they hurt a lot. Living with chronic pain is like having an alarm clock taped to your ear with the volume turned up—and you can't turn it down. You can't run from it; the pain goes where you go and stays where you stay. Chronic pain is the unwelcome guest who will not leave when the party is over.
A few months after my back turned south, my family and I moved when I accepted a job at Harvard Law School. Our family began to unravel. One of our children suffered a life-threatening disease, and my marriage fell apart.
Those crises faded with time but left deep scars. Early last year, in February 2008, another piece of bad news struck me: Doctors found a large tumor in my colon; a month later, films turned up tumors in both of my lungs. In the past year, I've had two cancer surgeries and six months of intensive chemotherapy. I've been off chemo for a few months, but I'm still nauseous much of the time and exhausted most of the time. Cancer kills, but cancer treatment takes a large bite out of one's pre-diseased life, as though one were dying in stages. Some of that stolen life returns when the treatment stops. But only some.
Today, my back and especially my right leg hurt as much as they ever have, and the odds are overwhelming that they will hurt for as long as this life lasts. Cancer will very probably kill me within the next two years. I'm 50 years old.
Such stories are common, yet widely misunderstood. Two misunderstandings are worth noting here. First, illness does not beget virtue. Cancer and chronic pain make me sick; they don't make me good. I am who I was, only more diseased. Second, though I deserve every bad thing that has ever happened to me, those things didn't happen because I deserve them. Life in a fallen world is more arbitrary than that. Plenty of people deserve better from life than I do, but get much worse. Some deserve worse and get much better. Something important follows: The question we are most prone to ask when hardship strikes—why me?—makes no sense. That question presupposes that pain, disease, and death are distributed according to moral merit. They aren't. We live in a world in which innocent children starve while moral monsters prosper. We may see justice in the next life, but we see little of it in this one.
Thankfully, God gives better and more surprising gifts to those living in hard times. Three gifts are especially sweet.
Redeeming Curses
First, God usually doesn't remove life's curses. Instead, he redeems them.
Joseph's story makes this point. Joseph was victimized by two horrible injustices: one at the hands of his brothers who sold him into slavery, the other thanks to Potiphar's wife, who falsely accused him of attempted rape. God did not undo these injustices; they remained real and awful. Instead, God used those wrongs to prevent a much worse one: mass starvation. When Joseph later met with his brothers, he said this about the transaction that started the train rolling: "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good." That doesn't mean that slavery and unjust imprisonment are good; rather, the point is that they produced good, and the good they produced was larger than the wickedness that was visited upon Joseph. Evil was twisted back on itself, like a gun barrel turned so that it aims at the would-be murderer firing the weapon.
Joseph's story foreshadows the central story of the Gospels. The worst day in human history was the day of Christ's crucifixion, which saw the worst possible punishment inflicted on the One who, in all history, least deserved it. Two more sunrises and the Son rose: the best day in human history, the day God turned death itself against itself—and because he did so, each one of us has the opportunity to share in death's defeat.
That is our God's trademark. Down to go up, life from death, beauty from ugliness: the pattern is everywhere.
That is our God's trademark. Down to go up, life from death, beauty from ugliness: the pattern is everywhere.That familiar pattern is also a great gift to those who suffer disease and loss—the loss may remain, but good will come from it, and the good will be larger than the suffering it redeems. Our pain is not empty; we do not suffer in vain. When life strikes hard blows, what we do has value. Our God sees it.
A change in suffering's character
The second gift is often missed, because it lives in salvation's shadow. Amazing as the greatest of all gifts is, God the Son does more than save sinners. Jesus' life and death also change the character of suffering, give it dignity and weight and even, sometimes, a measure of beauty. Cancer and chronic pain remain ugly things, but the enterprise of living with them is not an ugly thing. God's Son so decreed it when he gave himself up to torture and death.
Two facts give rise to that conclusion. First, Jesus is beautiful as well as good. Second, suffering is ugly as well as painful. Talk to those who suffer medical conditions like mine and you'll hear this refrain: Even the best-hidden forms of pain and disease have a reality that is almost tactile, as though one could touch or taste them. And those conditions are foul, like the sound of fingernails on a blackboard or the smell of a cornered skunk. Some days, I feel as if I were wearing clothes soaked in sewage.
Some days—but not most days, thanks to the manner of Jesus' life and death. Imagine Barack Obama putting on a bad suit or Angelina Jolie wearing an ugly dress. The suit wouldn't look bad, and that dress wouldn't be ugly. These are incredibly attractive people whose attractiveness spills over onto their clothing, changing its meaning and the way other people respond to it. If Obama or Jolie wear it, it's a good-looking outfit. If they wear it often enough, it becomes a good-looking outfit even when you or I wear it. God's Son did something similar by taking physical pain on his divine yet still-human person. He did not render pain itself beautiful. But his suffering made the enterprise of living with pain and illness larger and better than it had been before. He elevates all he touches. Just as his years of carpentry in Joseph's shop lend dignity and value to all honest work, so too the pain he bore lends dignity and value to every pain-filled day human beings live.
The Shawshank Redemption is about a prisoner convicted of a murder he didn't commit. That prisoner escapes by crawling through a sewer line until he's outside the prison's walls. The narrator describes the transaction this way: "He crawled through a river of [dung] and came out clean on the other side." God the Son did that, and he did it for the likes of me—so that I, too, and many more like me, might come out clean on the other side. That truth doesn't just change my life after I die. It changes my life here, now.
The God Who Remembers
The third gift is the most remarkable. Our God remembers even his most forgettable children. But that memory is not the dry, lifeless thing we feel when one or another old friend comes to mind. More like the passion one feels at the sight of a lover. When Jesus was dying, one of the two convicts crucified with him said this: "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom" (Luke 23:42). Jesus responded by telling him that he would be in paradise that very day. As we use the word remember, that story sounds off, as though the thief on the cross and the Son of God were talking past each other.
The story sounds off because to us, remembrance merely means "recall"—I remember when I connect a student's name to her face, or when I can summon up some fact or the image of some past event. That kind of remembrance is a sterile enterprise, lacking both action and commitment.
In the Bible, remembrance usually combines two meanings: first, holding the one who is remembered close in the heart, and second, acting on the memory. When God repeatedly tells the people of Israel to remember that he brought them out of Egypt, he is saying much more than "get your history right." A better paraphrase would go like this: "Remember that I have loved you passionately. Remember that I have acted on that love. Hold tight to that memory, and act on it too."
Job understood the concept. Speaking with God about what would follow his own death, Job utters these words: "You will call and I will answer you; you will long for the creature your hands have made. Surely then you will count my steps but not keep track of my sin" (14:15-16). Notice how memory and longing are fused. Job longs to be free of his many pains, which occupy his mind like a sea of unwanted memories. God longs for relationship with Job, and Job knows it: hence, his belief that the Lord of the universe remembers each of his steps. He is the Lover who will not rest until his arms enfold the beloved. To Job, the curses Satan has sent his way are a mighty mountain that cannot be climbed, an enemy army that cannot be beaten. In the shadow of God's love, those curses are at once puny and powerless.
Philosophers and scientists and law professors (my line of work) are not in the best position to understand the Christian story. Musicians and painters and writers of fiction are much better situated—because the Christian story is a story, not a theory or an argument, and definitely not a moral or legal code. Our faith is, to use C. S. Lewis's apt words, the myth that became fact. Our faith is a painting so captivating that you cannot take your eyes off it. Our faith is a love song so achingly beautiful that you weep each time you hear it. At the center of that true myth, that painting, that song stands a God who does vastly more than remember his image in us. He pursues us as lovers pursue one another. It sounds too good to be true, and yet it is true. So I have found, in the midst of pain and heartache and cancer.
William J. Stuntz is the Henry J. Friendly Professor at Harvard Law School.
Copyright © 2009 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.
Survivors of some horrible plague or battle often find themselves wracked with guilt: Why did I live while so many died? Though I had no battle scars, I used to feel a similar sense of guilt. I married the only woman I've ever loved. We have three terrific children. I have a secure job that I love and that pays well. Sometimes I would ask God: Why have you been so kind to me? Why have I gotten such an easy life?
I don't ask those questions anymore.
A little over nine years ago, while driving home from a family vacation, my car got a flat tire. When I started to change it, something nasty happened at the base of my back. Ever since, my lower back and the top half of my right leg have hurt. After two operations, dozens of injections, physical therapy, psychotherapy, and thousands of pills, my back and right leg hurt every waking moment, and most of those moments, they hurt a lot. Living with chronic pain is like having an alarm clock taped to your ear with the volume turned up—and you can't turn it down. You can't run from it; the pain goes where you go and stays where you stay. Chronic pain is the unwelcome guest who will not leave when the party is over.
A few months after my back turned south, my family and I moved when I accepted a job at Harvard Law School. Our family began to unravel. One of our children suffered a life-threatening disease, and my marriage fell apart.
Those crises faded with time but left deep scars. Early last year, in February 2008, another piece of bad news struck me: Doctors found a large tumor in my colon; a month later, films turned up tumors in both of my lungs. In the past year, I've had two cancer surgeries and six months of intensive chemotherapy. I've been off chemo for a few months, but I'm still nauseous much of the time and exhausted most of the time. Cancer kills, but cancer treatment takes a large bite out of one's pre-diseased life, as though one were dying in stages. Some of that stolen life returns when the treatment stops. But only some.
Today, my back and especially my right leg hurt as much as they ever have, and the odds are overwhelming that they will hurt for as long as this life lasts. Cancer will very probably kill me within the next two years. I'm 50 years old.
Such stories are common, yet widely misunderstood. Two misunderstandings are worth noting here. First, illness does not beget virtue. Cancer and chronic pain make me sick; they don't make me good. I am who I was, only more diseased. Second, though I deserve every bad thing that has ever happened to me, those things didn't happen because I deserve them. Life in a fallen world is more arbitrary than that. Plenty of people deserve better from life than I do, but get much worse. Some deserve worse and get much better. Something important follows: The question we are most prone to ask when hardship strikes—why me?—makes no sense. That question presupposes that pain, disease, and death are distributed according to moral merit. They aren't. We live in a world in which innocent children starve while moral monsters prosper. We may see justice in the next life, but we see little of it in this one.
Thankfully, God gives better and more surprising gifts to those living in hard times. Three gifts are especially sweet.
Redeeming Curses
First, God usually doesn't remove life's curses. Instead, he redeems them.
Joseph's story makes this point. Joseph was victimized by two horrible injustices: one at the hands of his brothers who sold him into slavery, the other thanks to Potiphar's wife, who falsely accused him of attempted rape. God did not undo these injustices; they remained real and awful. Instead, God used those wrongs to prevent a much worse one: mass starvation. When Joseph later met with his brothers, he said this about the transaction that started the train rolling: "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good." That doesn't mean that slavery and unjust imprisonment are good; rather, the point is that they produced good, and the good they produced was larger than the wickedness that was visited upon Joseph. Evil was twisted back on itself, like a gun barrel turned so that it aims at the would-be murderer firing the weapon.
Joseph's story foreshadows the central story of the Gospels. The worst day in human history was the day of Christ's crucifixion, which saw the worst possible punishment inflicted on the One who, in all history, least deserved it. Two more sunrises and the Son rose: the best day in human history, the day God turned death itself against itself—and because he did so, each one of us has the opportunity to share in death's defeat.
That is our God's trademark. Down to go up, life from death, beauty from ugliness: the pattern is everywhere.
That is our God's trademark. Down to go up, life from death, beauty from ugliness: the pattern is everywhere.That familiar pattern is also a great gift to those who suffer disease and loss—the loss may remain, but good will come from it, and the good will be larger than the suffering it redeems. Our pain is not empty; we do not suffer in vain. When life strikes hard blows, what we do has value. Our God sees it.
A change in suffering's character
The second gift is often missed, because it lives in salvation's shadow. Amazing as the greatest of all gifts is, God the Son does more than save sinners. Jesus' life and death also change the character of suffering, give it dignity and weight and even, sometimes, a measure of beauty. Cancer and chronic pain remain ugly things, but the enterprise of living with them is not an ugly thing. God's Son so decreed it when he gave himself up to torture and death.
Two facts give rise to that conclusion. First, Jesus is beautiful as well as good. Second, suffering is ugly as well as painful. Talk to those who suffer medical conditions like mine and you'll hear this refrain: Even the best-hidden forms of pain and disease have a reality that is almost tactile, as though one could touch or taste them. And those conditions are foul, like the sound of fingernails on a blackboard or the smell of a cornered skunk. Some days, I feel as if I were wearing clothes soaked in sewage.
Some days—but not most days, thanks to the manner of Jesus' life and death. Imagine Barack Obama putting on a bad suit or Angelina Jolie wearing an ugly dress. The suit wouldn't look bad, and that dress wouldn't be ugly. These are incredibly attractive people whose attractiveness spills over onto their clothing, changing its meaning and the way other people respond to it. If Obama or Jolie wear it, it's a good-looking outfit. If they wear it often enough, it becomes a good-looking outfit even when you or I wear it. God's Son did something similar by taking physical pain on his divine yet still-human person. He did not render pain itself beautiful. But his suffering made the enterprise of living with pain and illness larger and better than it had been before. He elevates all he touches. Just as his years of carpentry in Joseph's shop lend dignity and value to all honest work, so too the pain he bore lends dignity and value to every pain-filled day human beings live.
The Shawshank Redemption is about a prisoner convicted of a murder he didn't commit. That prisoner escapes by crawling through a sewer line until he's outside the prison's walls. The narrator describes the transaction this way: "He crawled through a river of [dung] and came out clean on the other side." God the Son did that, and he did it for the likes of me—so that I, too, and many more like me, might come out clean on the other side. That truth doesn't just change my life after I die. It changes my life here, now.
The God Who Remembers
The third gift is the most remarkable. Our God remembers even his most forgettable children. But that memory is not the dry, lifeless thing we feel when one or another old friend comes to mind. More like the passion one feels at the sight of a lover. When Jesus was dying, one of the two convicts crucified with him said this: "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom" (Luke 23:42). Jesus responded by telling him that he would be in paradise that very day. As we use the word remember, that story sounds off, as though the thief on the cross and the Son of God were talking past each other.
The story sounds off because to us, remembrance merely means "recall"—I remember when I connect a student's name to her face, or when I can summon up some fact or the image of some past event. That kind of remembrance is a sterile enterprise, lacking both action and commitment.
In the Bible, remembrance usually combines two meanings: first, holding the one who is remembered close in the heart, and second, acting on the memory. When God repeatedly tells the people of Israel to remember that he brought them out of Egypt, he is saying much more than "get your history right." A better paraphrase would go like this: "Remember that I have loved you passionately. Remember that I have acted on that love. Hold tight to that memory, and act on it too."
Job understood the concept. Speaking with God about what would follow his own death, Job utters these words: "You will call and I will answer you; you will long for the creature your hands have made. Surely then you will count my steps but not keep track of my sin" (14:15-16). Notice how memory and longing are fused. Job longs to be free of his many pains, which occupy his mind like a sea of unwanted memories. God longs for relationship with Job, and Job knows it: hence, his belief that the Lord of the universe remembers each of his steps. He is the Lover who will not rest until his arms enfold the beloved. To Job, the curses Satan has sent his way are a mighty mountain that cannot be climbed, an enemy army that cannot be beaten. In the shadow of God's love, those curses are at once puny and powerless.
Philosophers and scientists and law professors (my line of work) are not in the best position to understand the Christian story. Musicians and painters and writers of fiction are much better situated—because the Christian story is a story, not a theory or an argument, and definitely not a moral or legal code. Our faith is, to use C. S. Lewis's apt words, the myth that became fact. Our faith is a painting so captivating that you cannot take your eyes off it. Our faith is a love song so achingly beautiful that you weep each time you hear it. At the center of that true myth, that painting, that song stands a God who does vastly more than remember his image in us. He pursues us as lovers pursue one another. It sounds too good to be true, and yet it is true. So I have found, in the midst of pain and heartache and cancer.
William J. Stuntz is the Henry J. Friendly Professor at Harvard Law School.
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