MEET PASTOR CHRIS. He’s not a real person (though I’m sure there are plenty of Pastor Chrises out there, so our apologies). His story is fiction, but it is not unfamiliar. Pastor or not, you may even hear echoes of your own story in this one.
Chris grew up in a Christian home, a loving, stable, somewhat stern home. His dad was the pastor at a medium-sized Baptist church in the South. When Chris was twelve, his family moved to a small city in the Midwest, where his dad took a job as the executive pastor at a megachurch in the suburbs. The new city was a little bigger—okay, much bigger—than Chris and his younger two sisters were used to. In fact, it was a bit intimidating. But the Christian school they went to was a nurturing place, which helped, and Chris’s parents seemed happy.
All things considered, Chris was a pretty good kid. He broke curfew a few times and got caught drinking once, but he quickly learned his lessons and was usually eager to please his parents. His grades were decent. He was a good athlete and an unusually good guitar player. Over time, he began to feel at home in the 3500-person Riverside Community Church. Chris made friends in the youth group, went to church every Sunday, played in the youth praise band, and led, by all accounts, the normal, if not slightly better than average, life of an evangelical teenager.
After he graduated from his Christian high school, Chris moved one state over, about two hours away, to a well-respected Christian liberal arts college. Initially, he wanted to go to the big state school, but his parents convinced him that he might get lost in a big university and he’d have to put up with a lot of anti-Christian bias. If he went to the small Christian college instead, he’d continue to develop a Christian worldview and might even be able to lead music in chapel.
Chris loved college. Through a freshman Bible study on campus, he quickly made friends with three other guys, all of whom were serious about their faith, more serious than Chris was at first. College was good for Chris’s walk with the Lord in a lot of ways. He was consistently committed to personal devotions for the first time ever. He talked about the Bible and theology with his friends all the time. And he learned there was so much more to learn about the Christian faith than he ever imagined. At the beginning of his junior year, Chris decided to major in biblical studies. He was thinking of going to seminary to become what he never dreamed of becoming—a pastor.
But there were a few concerns too. For starters, Chris wasn’t very involved in a church. He loved his classes, tolerated chapel, and went to church maybe twice a month. He figured he was learning so much in his classes and had to go chapel three times a week anyway, so a Sunday service was not a must. Chris also grew a little edgier. This wasn’t all bad. Chris was a pretty quiet, compliant kid growing up, not wanting to disappoint his parents and all. But the new edge had its problems. Chris could be critical, especially of other Christians. He was self-confident to the point of turning people off. He was also smart, impressing his peers and professors with his love of learning and voracious appetite for reading. This, along with the popularity that came from playing guitar once a week in chapel, made him a little overbearing.
Chris had grown up with the quintessential Sunday school faith. He knew a lot of Bible stories, asked Jesus into his heart at summer camp in junior high school, understood that he was saved by grace alone, tried to stay out of trouble, felt guilty for not praying and evangelizing more, and never really questioned anything. But a lot changed in college. Chris didn’t completely reject the Christianity he grew up with, but he started to view it as simplistic and misguided—well-intended but naïve. He became interested in environmental stewardship and in the plight of the poor, issues he’d never heard talked about in the suburbs. He also grew to resent some elements of his church background—the video games at youth group, the praise band that seemed too happy to be real, the squeaky-clean multimillion-dollar new facility that was completed just before he left for college.
What really impacted Chris was the semester he spent studying abroad during his senior year. Chris was a Spanish minor so he decided to go to Central America, where he took some classes, saw some historical sights, and enjoyed the Latin culture. During his four months abroad, Chris had several occasions to see real-life poverty in person for the first time. He was amazed by the vibrant faith these poor Christians had in the midst of so much apparent suffering. The little church he attended many times in Central America seemed so much more alive than the churches he knew in the Midwest. The congregation worshiped with energy. The community was tight-knit. The church—with virtually no resources compared with his hometown megachurch—even ran an orphanage for abandoned children.
Chris returned to the States with a passion for a different kind of a church. He was tired of big churches, tired of the programs, tired of churches with so much doing so little. His passions and frustrations found a sympathetic ear with his professors. They encouraged him to pursue his vision and not let the naysayers get to him.
Fast forward five years. Chris, now twenty-seven, has graduated from a seminary in the Northeast. He wasn’t too keen on more schooling. It seemed like a waste of time with so many hurting, dying people in the world. But he didn’t know any other way to become a pastor. It took him five years to get his degree because he spent every summer back in Central America and poured himself into the urban church he joined while at seminary. He never knew church could be so amazing. This little community lived a semimonastic life together in the rough part of town, and Chris loved every minute of it. In fact, this church was eager to send Chris out as a church planter to another part of town where he could reproduce what he had experienced for the past five years.
With this official call in hand, Chris was ordained by the denominational body he had been a part of as a young child. Five years ago, he didn’t really know how to get ordained, nor did he care a whole lot, so he just went with something he knew. Now he was Pastor Chris, full of schooling, full of frustrations, full of ideas, and full of passion. A few months after graduation, Chris and five other singles from the previous church resettled in a regentrified part of town a dozen miles away. Here they would share most of their possessions, renounce the American dream, and pursue justice for the least of these. This church, Missio Dei, would be a different kind of church, one that would build the kingdom instead of building programs, one that would seek the shalom of the city and minister the whole gospel to the whole person. Their vision was to serve their neighbors and transform the community in Jesus’s name.
A month before the launch of their first public worship service, Chris decided to take a prayer walk through his corner of the city. After a dozen blocks or so he came across an impressive-looking building with a big steeple and massive front doors. Chris recognized the name of the church. It was a historic church with a good reputation in the community for faithful ministry. It was well known among Christians for its good preaching.
Curious, Chris wandered in and made an appointment with the pastor, hoping to build friendships with other churches in the area. At lunch the next day, Chris shared his church vision with Pastor Tim. He shared his past, his present, and his dreams for the future. For whatever reason, he really trusted Tim. Maybe it was the fact that he was more than twice Chris’s age. Maybe it was the smile. Maybe the beard reminded him of his father. For whatever reason, Tim seemed different from so many of the big-steeple pastors Chris had met. Instinctively, Chris felt like he had something to learn from this pastor.
About an hour into their long lunch, Chris decided to ask a risky question.
“I know we just met and you don’t know me very well. But you’ve been doing this pastoring stuff longer than I have. Well, I haven’t even started! So I was wondering if you had any advice for me as a pastor?”
“I don’t know, Chris. You seem to have a lot of good ideas for your church. There are a lot of things I could say, but I’m not sure what would be most helpful.”
“Then just say anything,” Chris interjected.
“Well, I guess the first thing I’d say is that I’m really impressed by your passion and commitment. Twenty years ago it seemed like everyone was leaving the city. But now kids like you are coming back, or coming for the first time, I guess. I’ve seen more church plants in the last five years than in the previous twenty-five. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that, Tim. But what else do you want to tell me?”
“I’ll tell you if you stop interrupting,” Tim grinned. “I am encouraged to see your willingness to sacrifice and your compassion for hurting people. I also like some of your ideas about making church more focused on discipleship and less about gimmicks and games. Too many churches don’t really seem to take God very seriously. I can see you’re not going to make that mistake.”
Chris liked the encouragement, but he wanted advice. “Okay, so you see some good things with Missio Dei. But I’m looking to learn. Most of the pastors I talk to don’t have a clue, but you seem different. So give me some pearls of wisdom or something. I’m in my twenties. You’re in your . . . whatevers. You’ve been doing this for decades. I haven’t had my first day yet. So pretend you’re me, just starting out. What do you know now that you wish you would have known way back when?”
“All right, I’ll talk,” Tim quipped. “It’s kind of you to ask my advice. I’m hesitant to get going on this topic because I probably have too much to say. This is actually something I’ve thought about a lot, partly because I’ve made a lot of mistakes and partly because I’ve seen a lot of fresh churches come in here and not last. Or worse, they become the sort of church we don’t need more of. So if you’re ready for the fire hose, I’ll start unstringing my pearls.”
“Strange metaphor, Tim, but I’m ready.”
“I guess the first thing is, deal with people, not stereotypes. It’s so easy when you’re doing urban ministry like this to think city is good and suburban is bad, or bourgeois is lame and bohemian is cool. Don’t get me wrong—people in the burbs misjudge poor people and black people and all the rest. I’m just saying, work hard to get to know real people and don’t assume you know who the heroes are. There’s good and bad in everyone—middle-class, poor, rich, you name it. Don’t size up people or groups or demographics until you get to know them. And even then, be prepared to be surprised by how amazing and how awful people can be.
“One of the other lessons I had to learn was when to go big and when to go small.”
“And that means . . . ?”
“It means go big on the big principles and not as big on the specific application. When I came here in the early ’80s I wanted everyone to hear about the radical demands of Jesus.”
“Yeah, and what’s wrong with that? They’re in the Bible. . . .”
“Nothing’s wrong, of course, and a lot is right about this desire. But people need to hear the demands in the right way. We need to interpret Scripture with Scripture and not turn Jesus’s hyperboles into Levitical law. So what I’ve learned is: go big and crazy with the broad principles—no holds barred, no caveats. But once you start talking specifics—in your sermons, in counseling, in discipleship—we ought to be a little more nuanced and careful.
“See, when Jesus speaks his most radical statements, it is to make sure that the people following him really understand what it means to follow him. He’s trying to turn away the fickle crowds who haven’t counted the cost. Christ’s radicalism is about radical allegiance to himself. So whatever gets in the way of this radical allegiance is trouble, be it family, money, job, status, pleasure, rule keeping, whatever. So don’t be afraid to tell people that Jesus needs to come before all these things. But be careful not to overspecify what this looks like. You’ll need to do some application, but don’t insist the really spiritual people will automatically have lots of kids or no kids or do this kind of job but not that or live in this kind of community or give their money in this way.
“I know it feels more prophetic to lay down the law on lazy Christians. And some of them need you to do that. But don’t give in to the temptation to tell everyone exactly what their life needs to look like.”
“But shouldn’t Christians look different from the world?” Chris asked. “Shouldn’t we be an alternative community? I guess I’m afraid that if we don’t challenge our people directly, they won’t really turn from their materialism and individualism.”
“You’re right. There is a need for lots of exhortation. And Christians should form a counterculture of sorts. We should all be marked by love, joy, peace, patience . . . you know the list.”
“But . . . ?” Chris knew more was coming.
“But,” Tim took the bait, “we must allow that good Christian lives will not be identical. People have different callings and will pursue different vocations. The woman ardently concerned about immigration issues may go into the legal profession so she can seek justice in this area. The man who owns the corner grocery store may have different concerns. That’s okay. Resist the urge to make the church body do everything you want the body parts to be doing.”
“Wait—say that again?”
“Don’t make the church body do everything you want the body parts to be doing. In other words, there’s a difference between the church gathered and the church scattered. Some theologians call it the church as organization and the church as organism. Help people be faithful disciples and entrepreneurs and hard workers in their jobs, in their families, and in their communities. Your job is to equip them for ministry, but don’t make a church program for every good deed Christians might do in Christ’s name. If you have a church member who really wants to see better playground equipment at the downtown park, you could take this on as a church, or you could encourage this brother to spearhead this with families in his neighborhood. It might even make a good outreach opportunity, and it might save your people from ministry overload and from feeling guilty about not doing everything.
“While I’m spewing, let me say something else about guilt. One of the most important jobs of a pastor is to help people feel guilty when they are guilty and help people feel at peace when they are not guilty. Oftentimes, young pastors, especially passionate ones, are eager for their people to feel guilty about most everything. It’s one of the ways we know we are getting through to people. Now listen, I’m not a feel-good-all-the-time positive-thinking preacher. So that’s not what I’m telling you to do. I’m just saying don’t confuse opportunities and responsibilities. Just because we can do something doesn’t mean we have to. If you’re thinking an afterschool program is the way to go, encourage your people that this could be a valuable ministry. Don’t swing for the fences and try to convince them that they must do it or else.
“Like I said, people are called to different things. Their consciences are pricked in different ways. So don’t expect everyone to be into whatever you’re into, or against everything you’re against. For example, I don’t like most movies. I find the language, the violence, the bathroom humor, the sex and innuendo all very offensive. I feel dirty after watching most movies. So I gave up movies ten years ago. It’s been a wonderful decision. Now, hopefully my convictions are based on some biblical principles. Certainly, many Christians watch trash and think nothing of it. But I’ve learned to be careful about projecting all of my entertainment choices on everyone else. I remember C. S. Lewis said something like, ‘One of the marks of a certain type of bad man is that he cannot give up a thing himself without wanting everyone else to give it up.’1 What I’m saying, Chris, is that if you take every last one of your convictions and all your idealistic passion and lay it over your whole congregation, you’ll wear them out or tear them up.”
“Okay, I get that.” Chris was sort of getting it. Even though he wanted to be respectful and humble, he couldn’t help feeling just a tad defensive. “But isn’t it my job to help people change? And how will they change if I just let them worship their same idols?”
Tim worked hard to be patient, something he wasn’t always so good at. “I’m not saying you leave them in their idolatry. There is definitely a time for throwing down rebukes. But as a general rule you’ll be able to inspire people more by holding up grace. Motivate your congregation with optimism and grace and they will go farther and last longer. You’re absolutely right that real discipleship is radical discipleship. But real discipleship, if it is going to last, must also be realistic discipleship. We need to guard against self-imposed exhaustion, against thinking we are never doing enough and things are always terrible. Likewise, we need to be careful the accent of our preaching—the flavor, the emphasis—is on the message of God’s grace, not on the message of radical sacrifice. Radical sacrifice will happen, but only when your people are first caught up in Christ’s radical sacrifice on their behalf. Help your people delight in God, rejoice in their justification, and understand their union with Christ, and they’ll be much more effective in mission for the long haul. They’ll be nicer to be around too.
“Again, as Christians, and as leaders, we need to call a spade a spade. We need to challenge the drifting. But don’t forget that the justice and community things you’re interested in are just one aspect of godliness. Sexual purity, forgiveness, kindness, joy, not taking the Lord’s name in vain, not getting drunk, not indulging in gossip and slander—these things, and a hundred others, are also part of being holy as God is holy. Don’t trade one imbalance for another. Be on the lookout for all sorts of idols, not just the ones twenty-somethings can spot.”
Chris took a deep breath and ordered some more coffee. Tim delicately excused himself. When he returned, Chris was ready to go at it again.
He began apologetically: “I know you’re busy and I don’t want to monopolize your whole day. I’d love to hear more, but I don’t want to keep you from your next appointment.”
“I just made the only appointment I need to keep,” Tim answered dryly.
“Nice.”
“Let me finish my previous train of thought. The reason I keep harping on guilt and expectations and vocation and responsibility is that I care about the church, and I care about you. When I was your age, I could have used an older man telling me, Chris, you are not the Christ.”
“Wouldn’t it have been strange if he called you Chris?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Keep going.”
“Anyway,” Tim was trying to get his bearings, “you need to remember that you are not the Messiah. You don’t have to build the kingdom. That’s God’s work. You don’t have to atone for anyone’s sins. Jesus has taken care of that. I know you have big plans and dreams. That’s good. Really it is. But big plans are only accomplished after many days and years of small things. What I’m trying to say is, pray for the extraordinary, but expect the ordinary. Don’t try to do too much right away. This is a big city in a big country in a big world. Get to know your neighbors. Invest in a few key leaders. Work hard at your sermons and don’t fret about changing the planet.
“Practice patience. Lots of patience. And a day off every week. Don’t forget that.
“And don’t think too little of the people you’re trying to help. It’s all well-meaning I know, but sometimes we can be sort of patronizing toward people we perceive as weak or needy. Actually, we’re all weak and needy, just in different ways. You don’t have to be anyone’s Savior. Just be their friend, their brother, their pastor. Sometimes, and this will sound counterintuitive, the best thing you can do for people is to expect more from them. I know you have a heart for the hurting here and around the world. I pray you don’t ever lose that. But the issues are complex and the dynamic between giver and recipient is complicated. Sometimes it’s better to help others learn to help themselves. I’m not trying to justify turning a blind eye to the injured man on the Jericho Road, but I learned the hard way that doing everything is not the antidote for doing nothing.”
At this point Chris needed to get some things out in the open. “I really like what you’re saying. It makes sense. One of my professors in seminary told me once that my ideas all by themselves made him exhausted. He told me I shouldn’t feel so burdened with all the problems in the world.”
“That’s not quite how I’d put it,” said Tim.
“But I knew what he was getting at. And I know what you’re getting at. But here’s my thing: I don’t think most people get themselves in trouble because they try to do too much. It seems like most Americans, Christians as much as anyone, are lazy and apathetic. There’s no sacrifice. There’s no sense of urgency. There’s no self-denial. Most Christians I’ve seen are just living up the good life. They live their life like vacation, not like war. They don’t give a rip about anything except their kids and their retirement portfolio and next month’s football party.” Chris was getting fired up. “Most churches are failing because they are insular and couldn’t care less about anyone else’s problems. They’re a bunch of holy huddles. They’re country clubs only interested in taking care of their own members.”
Tim struggled with how to proceed. Finally, he fell back on his preacher instincts. “I hear what you’re saying. I’m sure you’re right that a lot of churches and Christians are like that. But at the risk of launching into a sermon, can I give you three points in response to what you just said?”
“Sure, I guess. I’ve heard three-point sermons all my life! Preach away.”
“First, you’re right that some Christians are lazy and apathetic. Some of them are fakes, hypocrites, and cheats. And some are doing the best they can. And others are racked with guilt. And others have too many fears and worries to be thinking about freeing Tibet. I’m not asking you to go easy on the lazy. But as you get a little older, you’ll see that there are different kinds of people in the world, and sometimes they need to hear different chapters of the old, old story. Be careful not to read your experiences or your personality into every text or every situation. Your take on the church is right, but so are other takes.
“Second, you probably know this too, but a huge part of the church’s ministry is to take care of its own members. Think of all the ‘one another’ commands. These are commands for life in the church. Think about Paul’s teaching on spiritual gifts. They’re for building up the body. Think of Jesus. He said the world would know his disciples by their love—their love for each other. When I started out in ministry, I used to say things like, ‘The church is the only institution that doesn’t exist for the benefit of its members.’ I’d often say to my congregation, ‘The church doesn’t exist for you. It’s for the people out there.’ ”
“Exactly!” Chris interjected.
“Hold on. My heart was in the right place. I was trying to stir people up to evangelize and take an interest in their neighbors. But after preaching through most of the New Testament, I realized these statements weren’t true. The local church is uniquely responsible for its own members. Elders have to keep watch over their flock, not over the whole city. The church is an army, but it’s also an ark. People need safety, care, and teaching in that ark. It took me a long time to see that the way to get people to care about the world outside the church was not to chastise everyone for loving the church too much. We are a holy huddle. But we also break huddle and go out into the world.”
“Okay, two down. What’s left?”
“I’ll try to be brief.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
“Yeah, probably a bad idea. But I’ll try.” Tim collected his thoughts. “One of the hardest things as a Christian is to figure out whether the good stuff in life is to be rejected or enjoyed.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“What I mean is that some Christians talk about how God gives us all these gifts to enjoy and how our lives should be wonderful. And other Christians talk about the dangers of loving things more than God and how we’ve gotten too soft and cushy. And of course, both sets of Christians are right. It’s like G. K. Chesterton’s line about the universe being at the same time an ogre’s castle to be stormed and a cottage we come home to each night. The world is a fight and a gift all at the same time. Chesterton said God wants us to have a fiercer delight and a fiercer discontent with the world. So yes, we need to be willing to sacrifice everything for Jesus. But we also need to be ready to accept blessings from his hands. We don’t want our people to think that the most serious Christians are always the most serious. We may be at war, but even soldiers get ice cream sometimes. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we must be on guard against affluence and asceticism. Both are counterfeit gospels.”
By this point in the conversation, with more than three hours gone and too much caffeine, a few things were clear. Chris had gotten more than he bargained for. Tim had a lot to say. And a large tip was in order.
Despite a few tense exchanges, both pastors were thoroughly enjoying themselves. But both men were also getting ready to leave. You can only talk intensely with an until-recently-complete-stranger for so long. But Chris wasn’t quite finished.
“I can’t thank you enough for lunch and for taking time to talk. I’m sorry if I got a little pushy at times.”
“I didn’t notice. I was probably pushy myself. I’m just glad you ask so many good questions.”
“Well then,” Chris smiled, “I have one more.”
“I have three minutes. Go for it.”
“You’ve given me plenty to think about. I know I like some of what you’re saying. And some of it I’ll need to let simmer for a while. But I guess I’m a little confused after talking with you about the mission of Missio Dei. I’ve been telling people we are a different kind of church, one that builds the kingdom instead of building programs, one that will seek the shalom of the city and minister to the whole person. Our vision is to serve our neighbors and transform the community in Jesus’s name. But it sounds like this is not exactly the way you’d put it. So what do you think the mission of our new church should be?”
“Great question. I have a revolutionary idea for you.” Chris was all ears. “Are you ready?”
“I’m ready. But something tells me you’re setting me up.”
“Not a setup—just a buildup for something you already know. I believe the mission of the church—your church, my church, the church in Appalachia, the church in Azerbaijan, the church anywhere—is to make disciples of Jesus Christ in the power of the Spirit to the glory of God the Father.”
“Wow, you got the whole Trinity in there.”
“Thanks, I’ve been working on that sentence.”
“So basically you’re saying the Great Commission is the only thing that matters,” Chris muttered.
“No, not the only thing that matters. But you asked me about your church’s mission. And I’m saying this is your mission. Jesus sent the apostles into the world to make disciples of all nations. This is what God is sending Missio Dei into the city to accomplish. Discipleship is your priority. That doesn’t mean you have to abandon all your plans for meeting people’s needs. But it means that in a world of finite time, energy, and resources, your church, above all else, should be evangelizing non-Christians, nurturing believers, and establishing healthy churches.
“I know you want to make a difference. And in my experience the best way to make a difference is to teach the Bible and bear witness to Jesus in your sermons, on the bus, in your counseling, around the dinner table, and whenever you get the chance. Trust me: the Word of God is more than able to do the work of God.”
Then, just as they were getting up from the table to go their separate ways, Tim looked at his new friend one more time and spoke with a fatherly tenderness that surprised both men. “Chris, keep the main thing the main thing and you’ll be all right.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
“I should be the one to thank you for such a pleasant and lengthy interruption. This was a great way to spend the afternoon.”
Chris agreed and hoped there would be more afternoons like it. “So, Tim, would you be up for grabbing lunch again next week?”
“I’d be happy to.”
“That’d be great. I think I can learn a lot from you.”
“And I’m sure there are more than a few things I could learn from you too.”
1C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, 3rd ed. (New York: HarperOne, 2001), 78.