Discipleship

Justice by Whose Definition?

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

And so the fight for “justice” continues.

In an October 13 statement, the South Carolina Conference of The United Methodist Church announced that a circuit court judge intends to dismiss cases brought by the Conference and local United Methodist churches involving 70 churches seeking to separate from the denomination. According to the statement, the written orders have not yet been entered. The Conference nevertheless announced its intention to appeal.

For years, congregations seeking to leave The United Methodist Church over theological differences could do so with their property under a temporary provision in the Book of Discipline (Paragraph 2553). That window closed at the end of 2023. In the years since, some churches have continued to separate—often outside the processes allowed by church law—while annual conferences have sought to retain the properties under the denomination’s longstanding trust clause. The South Carolina cases are one result of that unresolved conflict.

Near the conclusion, Bishop Leonard Fairley said, “So, we will continue to seek justice faithfully, pursue the appropriate legal avenues available to us, and trust God with what lies ahead.”

It was the word justice that caught my attention. Just what constitutes justice in a situation like this? And who gets to define it?

Let me acknowledge my own perspective. I spent more than 28 years as a United Methodist pastor, including two years as a district superintendent. I now pastor Haughton Methodist Church, a congregation that chose to walk away from its former church property. I have a history here. I have convictions. I won’t pretend otherwise. 

But those experiences are precisely why I think the question deserves more than an assumption that justice means our side wins. Read alongside the announced intention to appeal, that language raises a question for me: Does seeking justice necessarily mean overturning the dismissal?

Who Has a Just Claim?

An Annual Conference can argue that church property belongs to a connection larger than any single congregation. Local churches have benefited from appointed pastors, denominational relationships and the contributions of those who came before the present membership. Some have also received financial assistance. Those things matter.

But generations of local people putting money in offering plates, paying mortgages, repairing roofs, mowing grass and keeping the lights on matter just as much. So do the sacrifices of people who believed they were providing a place where their children and grandchildren could worship and come to know Jesus. How does one weigh those contributions?

Where a Conference’s financial investment has been limited or nonexistent, what makes retaining the property morally just? Is the legal claim sufficient to settle the Christian question? And from the other direction, does the present congregation’s desire to leave erase every obligation to the connection or every intention of previous generations?

Those questions require actual answers. Calling our preferred outcome “justice” does not provide them. A court can determine legal rights. Christians still have to ask how we ought to exercise those rights.

What Does the Fight Cost?

The bishop’s statement also speaks of people hungry for the Gospel, communities needing healing and children needing to discover the love of Jesus. Amen. I couldn’t agree more. There is much ministry before us. That is part of what makes this so troubling.

What does it cost to continue these disputes? And I don’t mean only the attorney fees. What does it cost in pastoral attention? In congregational energy? In relationships? In the credibility of our witness to people watching from outside the church? What could the money accomplish if it were used to feed the hungry, clothe the naked or support ministries of care for the sick?

I get it: property has value, and protecting it can preserve resources for future ministry. Stewardship sometimes requires difficult decisions. But stewardship also requires asking whether the expense of securing an asset is consuming the very ministry that asset was supposed to serve.

That question applies to departing congregations, too. A congregation can become so determined to keep a building that keeping it becomes the organizing purpose of its life. At some point, both sides ought to ask: How much are we willing to spend to avoid losing? And what might we lose while insisting on winning?

The Scripture We Have to Face

Then there is Paul. 1 Corinthians 6 makes uncomfortable reading when Christians are taking one another to court. Paul confronts believers over their lawsuits and asks why they would not rather suffer wrong or accept being cheated.

I don’t believe a blog paragraph can settle every question about how that passage applies to every legal circumstance. But surely it requires more from us than a quick explanation of why our particular dispute deserves an exception.

Paul asks us to consider the possibility that accepting a loss might be more faithful than securing a victory. What are we supposed to do with that? Does it have any practical authority over our decisions? Can it change our course of action? Or do we affirm the authority of Scripture until Scripture threatens something we are determined to keep?

I ask that as someone who has preached plenty of difficult passages and then discovered how difficult they are to live. What sounds right when we read it in worship on Sunday can be harder to accept when we meet with an attorney on Monday.

Sometimes You Walk Away

At Haughton, our congregation walked away. I cannot mention that as though leaving church property behind were a small thing. A church building holds memories. People remember weddings, funerals, baptisms and the places where they sat beside someone they loved. You can’t pack any of that into a moving van.

We now worship in a storefront. There are limitations and inconveniences. The decision to walk away had consequences beyond the day we left. But there is still a congregation. There is still worship. There is still a Gospel to proclaim and a community to serve.

Our experience does not give me the right to prescribe the same decision for every other church. It does give me a reason to take Paul’s question seriously. Accepting loss is an actual possibility, with actual costs.

It also raises a question for the institution receiving what a congregation relinquishes. A congregation’s willingness to walk away does not automatically establish the justice of the Conference keeping the property, or the justice of the Conference continuing to fight for it. Accepting an outcome and declaring that outcome just are different things.

If we appeal to Scripture when asking a congregation to accept loss, we must also ask what Scripture might require the Conference to surrender. Otherwise, accepting loss becomes something we recommend exclusively to the other side.

Justice, Mercy and Humility

Micah 6:8 holds together doing justice, loving mercy and walking humbly with God. I need all three. So does the church.

Humility requires admitting that my interests can influence my definition of justice. Mercy requires taking seriously what my insistence on those interests will cost someone else. Neither makes justice unimportant, but both should shape how we pursue it.

I don’t know how the South Carolina appeals will unfold. The statement itself says the trial court’s written orders are still pending. I am not claiming to know how the legal questions should be resolved. I am asking whether we have given the Christian questions the attention they deserve.

What do we owe one another? What does our witness require? What are we willing to surrender for the sake of the Gospel? And, perhaps most importantly, can we recognize justice when it requires something of us?

The fight for “justice” continues. Meanwhile, the hungry still need food, the sick still need care, the poor still need help, and the orphan and widow still need someone to stand beside them. A world still needs Jesus. Those needs don’t settle the property question. But they ought to weigh heavily in how long we fight, how much we spend and what we are willing to surrender.

Justice. We all want justice. The problem is in knowing whose definition to use.

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.

When Everything Becomes a Bet

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

I don’t know why (I’ve never used a betting app in my life), but an advertisement popped up on my phone recently offering me the opportunity to bet on whether the price of silver would go up or down over the next twenty-four hours. Silver. Over the next twenty-four hours. Who knew?

The ad was for Kalshi, a prediction-market platform. Its products are called event contracts, and its exchange model differs from a traditional sportsbook—or so I’m told. I’m not versed enough in online betting to know the difference. What I do know is online wagering has proliferated recently, and I can’t think that’s a good thing. Apparently, we can now bet on anything in life. Increasingly, the opportunity comes looking for us.

WHEN TRUST BECOMES A SALES PITCH

That bothers me—more than a little. One of the reasons it bothers me is that a few of my favorite podcasts are now being sponsored by these “betting” markets. Though not specifically faith-based, they are led by folks who claim a deep faith. That gives me a little heartburn. When we come to trust someone’s voice, that trust can extend to what they’re selling. I wonder whether these hosts have thought enough about what they’re inviting their listeners to do.

I’m also concerned that these betting markets are being used as a gauge for future elections. What are the chances so-and-so will win? What are the odds the Republicans hold onto the House? I wonder how those “predictions” might shape our judgment. A candidate’s chances of winning tell us very little about whether that person ought to win. Are we allowing the way people bet to influence the way we think about whom to vote for?

A SAINTS FAN’S CONFESSION

Sports betting raises another concern: the integrity of the games themselves.

Now, I need to confess something. I love the New Orleans Saints. And I have occasionally been accused of wearing a tin-foil hat when discussing the way officials treat my team. I rather prefer to think of it as protective headgear for a long-suffering fan.

After watching Jared Goff’s apparent fumble become an incomplete pass, then watching a similar-looking play involving Tyler Shough remain a fumble against the Raiders, I suspect my tin-foil hat club has picked up a few members. Welcome. Bring your own aluminum foil. We’re a modest operation.

Yes, I’ve heard the rules explanations. No, I have no evidence that either call had anything to do with gambling. Being a Saints fan does not qualify me to conduct a federal investigation, though it has given me considerable experience demanding one.

Beneath my humor, though, is a serious concern. Players, coaches, and officials make decisions that affect what happens on the field. Those decisions can also affect the outcome of wagers. That creates opportunities for conflicts of interest, misuse of inside information, and deliberate manipulation.

A disputed call does not establish any of those things. But it can illustrate how fragile trust becomes when fans know money is riding on the decision. A bad call has always been part of sports. Betting can add another question to the familiar argument about whether the official got it right: did somebody have a reason to get it wrong?

I need to be careful about asking that question of any particular person without evidence, but I’ll also remind us that betting-related misconduct has occurred. The NBA banned Jontay Porter after finding he shared confidential information, limited participation for betting purposes, and wagered on NBA games.

That example matters because an entire team does not have to agree to lose for a wager to be compromised. A market tied to one individual’s performance can create an opportunity for that individual to influence the result. The temptation deserves attention before another scandal gives us a reason to pay it.

THE NEXT BET IS ALWAYS WITHIN REACH

There was a time when going somewhere to gamble required at least the decision to go. That offered no guarantee of restraint, but it created a boundary. A phone puts the opportunity in our pocket. The same device we use to talk to our children, check the weather, and read the news can invite us to put money on the next uncertain outcome—the next election, the next game, even the next solitary play.

Convenience is usually presented as a good thing. I don’t think we can say the same thing when it comes to gambling. What happens when the next wager is always within reach? What happens when a loss can immediately be followed by another opportunity to win it back? And what responsibility belongs to businesses that earn money by encouraging us to keep participating?

WHOSE MONEY?

As disciples of Jesus, we ought to ask what this constant invitation to wager is doing to our families, our communities, and our understanding of a good life.

I find those questions inseparable from stewardship and contentment. The money entrusted to us carries responsibilities—to our households, to our neighbors, and to the work God calls us to do. The promise of a quick gain can make the ordinary work of earning, saving, giving, and waiting seem painfully inadequate.

Are we stewards? If so, then just whose money are we gambling with? I could rattle off a list of biblical passages that leave little doubt whose money it is. The one I’ll mention here is Matthew 25:14–30, the Parable of the Talents. The servants are entrusted with their master’s property, and they are accountable for what they do with it. That ought to make us ask whether the way we use what God has entrusted to us reflects His purposes.

What does faithful stewardship look like when I open my wallet—or an app on my phone? Am I considering what God would have me do with what He has given me? His generous grace ought to move me to gratitude and faithfulness. That deserves more thought than the odds on my next wager.

ARE WE CONTENT?

It’s not just a matter of faithful stewardship, either. It’s also an issue of contentment. I’m reminded of Hebrews 13:5 here: “Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’”

Are we trusting God for His provision, or are we trusting in blind luck?

We also need to consider how gambling can feed greed and envy. Do we gamble because we want something we don’t have? Do we gamble because we want something that belongs to someone else? Even if we start out simply wanting a little entertainment, we ought to pay attention to what keeps us coming back.

In Philippians 4, Paul describes contentment as something he learned. That suggests practice. It suggests that our desires need formation. A steady invitation to imagine how much better life could be after the next winning wager offers a competing lesson.

MORE THAN PERSONAL CHOICE

Certainly, some people place an occasional bet and stop. But a biblical assessment cannot end with the person who can afford a loss and walk away. It must also consider the person who keeps going, the spouse who discovers the missing money, and the child whose needs go unmet. When money needed at home is lost, the consequences reach people who never agreed to the wager.

Personal freedom matters. So do the responsibilities that come with it. Calling an activity a personal choice does not make all its consequences personal.

Friends, we can be biblical about this subject without humiliating people who are struggling–that’s what grace is for. Someone whose betting has become destructive needs the church. They need a place to tell the truth, find practical help, and discover people who are willing to walk with them. Their family needs care as well.

Even when gambling is legal, legality is an insufficient measure of whether an industry serves the common good. We can recognize personal freedom while questioning businesses that continually encourage people to risk money. We can enjoy sports while insisting that their integrity matters more than the number of markets someone can build around them.

That little advertisement about silver left me with a question much larger than tomorrow’s price. Just because we can make a bet out of something, should we?

I would like us to recover the freedom to enjoy a game, follow the news, or pick up our phones without being invited to put money on what happens next.

Until next time, keep looking up…

The House Has a New Owner

/ pastorlynnmalone / 1 Comment

Since my mom died, my brothers and I have faced a task that eventually comes to almost every family: cleaning out her house.

There is nothing particularly unusual about cleaning out a house. You open drawers. You empty closets. You decide what to keep, what to give away, what someone else in the family might want, and what simply needs to be thrown away. Except when it is your mother’s house, nothing is quite that simple.

A drawer isn’t just a drawer. You open it and find something you remember from childhood. A closet contains clothes you still picture her wearing. A cabinet holds something you haven’t seen in thirty years, and suddenly you aren’t standing in an empty house anymore. You’re ten years old again.

Cleaning out Mom’s house brought floods of memories. But it also brought another realization. Life can become incredibly cluttered without us ever noticing it.

Very few of us wake up one morning and decide, “I think I’ll fill every drawer, closet and cabinet in my house with things I may never use again.” It just happens.

We put something in a drawer because we might need it someday. We move something to a closet because we don’t know what else to do with it. We keep something because it belonged to somebody we loved. We hang on to something because throwing it away feels wasteful. One thing becomes ten things. Ten things become a closet full of things. Eventually we stop noticing.

It isn’t necessarily bad stuff. Some of it is valuable. Some of it is sentimental. Some of it once served an important purpose. But somewhere along the way, the house became cluttered.

As we worked through Mom’s house, another thought slowly began forming in my mind. This is what Jesus wants to do with my house. Not the house where Vanessa and I live. Me. My spiritual house.

The House Gets a New Owner

When we come to faith in Jesus Christ, something far more significant happens than inviting Jesus into our lives. The house—my house—gets a new Owner. We deed the property to him.

Paul puts it rather bluntly:

“You do not belong to yourself, for God bought you with a high price.”
—1 Corinthians 6:19–20 NLT

The deed has changed hands.

But here’s where things get interesting. We still live in the house. And living in a house you used to own after someone else has taken ownership can get uncomfortable. Because the new Owner begins opening drawers.

“What’s this?”

Oh, I’ve had that for years.

“Do you need it?”

Well, no. But I’ve always had it.

Then he opens a closet.

Jesus, we really don’t need to go in there.

But he does.

Opening the Drawers

There are resentments we’ve stored away. Old wounds we’ve carefully boxed up. Ambitions we haven’t quite surrendered. Habits we’ve learned to live with. Attitudes we’ve stopped questioning. Fears we’ve carried so long that we think they’re part of the house.

Some things aren’t necessarily sinful at all. They simply no longer belong in the life Jesus is creating. And some things carry memories. That’s when cleaning gets difficult. Because Jesus isn’t sorting through somebody else’s house. He’s sorting through mine. He starts rearranging furniture.

Wait a minute. That chair has always been there.

“I know.”

I like it there.

“I know.”

Then why are you moving it?

“Because this is my house now.”

And there, I think, is much of the uncomfortable work of sanctification. By grace, we gladly gave Jesus the house. We meant it when we did. But we didn’t necessarily understand everything that new ownership would mean.

We knew about the things lying around in plain sight. Those were often among the first things we expected Jesus to change. But then he starts opening drawers. Then closets. Then boxes we haven’t opened ourselves in years. And sometimes he points toward a door and we realize we’ve been living in this house so long that we had almost forgotten there was a room behind it.

“I’d like to go in there.”

There?

“Yes.”

Why?

“Because it’s mine.”

The Whole House is His

That may be one way of understanding what we Wesleyans have traditionally called entire sanctification. It does not mean Jesus has finished cleaning the house. It means there are no rooms we knowingly refuse to let him enter.

There comes a point when we stop following him from room to room negotiating over every drawer and simply say, “The whole house is yours.”

And that is more than another step in the cleaning process. It is a moment of surrender—a decisive work of grace in which I quit deciding which parts of the house Jesus may have. By grace, I hand him every key I know I possess. I may not yet know everything stored in every room, but there is no room I knowingly reserve for myself. The question is no longer, “How much of this house will I let Jesus change?” The answer has become, “All of it. Whatever you want. Wherever you want to go. The whole house is yours.”

Not just the living room where everybody can see. Not just the rooms I’ve already cleaned up. The closets. The drawers. The attic. The boxes. The room at the end of the hall. All of it. Yours.

Ownership and Renovation

That surrender can be real and decisive. But it doesn’t mean the work is finished. In fact, it may mean the real work has only begun. Because complete ownership is not the same thing as completed renovation.

Tomorrow Jesus may open another drawer. Next year he may move another piece of furniture. Ten years from now he may show me something that has been sitting in a corner my entire life, something I have walked past ten thousand times without ever realizing it didn’t belong there. That’s not evidence that I never gave him the house. It may be evidence that he loves me enough to keep working on it.

John Wesley understood sanctification as both something God does decisively and something in which we continue to grow. There is a genuine surrender of ourselves completely to God, but there is also a lifetime of discovering what that surrender means.

Maybe that’s because we don’t know our own houses nearly as well as we think we do. We know the rooms we use every day. Jesus knows what’s behind the walls. And grace keeps working. Opening. Sorting. Cleaning. Repairing. Rearranging. Sometimes throwing away. Sometimes uncovering something beautiful that had been buried beneath years of clutter. And all the while, we are still living in the house.

Trusting the New Owner

Maybe that’s one reason sanctification can be uncomfortable. The old owner still has opinions about where the furniture ought to go. I certainly do. But I’m learning that the question isn’t whether I like every change Jesus makes. The question is whether I trust the Owner.

After all, he didn’t purchase this house in order to destroy it. He bought it because he loves it. And he intends to make it into what it was always meant to be.

So perhaps the prayer of sanctification isn’t nearly as complicated as we sometimes make it: Jesus, this house belongs to you. Whatever you find, whatever needs to change, whatever room I have yet to discover—remind me whose house this is.

As my brothers and I worked our way through Mom’s house, every drawer we emptied and every closet we opened made the house a little less like the house we had always known. That was tough.

Those things were part of her life. Our life with her. Some brought laughter. Some brought tears. Some made us wonder why in the world she had kept them. And some were almost impossible to let go. But eventually, everything had to be examined.

Maybe that’s what I didn’t understand about sanctification for a long time. When I gave my life to Christ, I gave him the house. But I brought a lifetime of stuff with me.

Jesus keeps cleaning, sorting and rearranging, not because he despises the house, but because he loves the person who still lives there. And perhaps that’s the grace I’ve begun to see differently. Jesus didn’t buy the house so he could throw me out. He bought the house so that, room by room, it might become a place shaped by his presence.

So, when he opens the next drawer, perhaps I don’t need to become defensive. When he points toward the next closet, perhaps I don’t need to hide the key. And when he decides the furniture needs rearranging, perhaps I can trust that he sees something I don’t.

After all, the house isn’t mine anymore. I still live here, but thanks be to God, I don’t live here alone.

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.

Have I Truly Surrendered to Christ?

/ pastorlynnmalone / 2 Comments

Not long ago, I was listening to a preacher give an invitation at the end of a gospel concert. I don’t remember everything he said, but one question caught my attention: “Have you truly surrendered your life to Christ?”

It was a perfectly reasonable question. I’ve probably asked some version of it myself more times than I can count. But this time it confused me. What exactly does that mean?

Most of the people at a gospel concert are probably already Christians. Certainly, there could have been someone there who enjoyed the music but had never made a profession of faith. Perhaps someone needed to hear the gospel that night and respond to Christ for the first time. But I wondered whether there might be another possibility.

What if the person hearing that invitation had already surrendered his life to Christ? What if he had believed? What if she had been following Jesus for twenty years? What if the work Christ wanted to do in someone’s life that evening wasn’t the beginning of faith, but the continuation of it?

The question stayed with me because I realized I’m not always sure what we mean when we ask someone to “surrender your life to Christ.” There certainly is an initial surrender. There comes a moment when we recognize our need for Christ, repent of our sin, place our faith in him, and confess Jesus as Lord. As Wesleyans, we describe that as the moment of justifying grace. God forgives. God reconciles. God makes us his own.

But grace didn’t suddenly appear at that moment. God’s grace had already been at work. Wesleyans have traditionally called that prevenient grace—the grace that goes before. Long before we understood what God was doing, God was drawing us. Before we knew we needed grace, grace was already awakening us to our need.

In my old age, I have come to believe that we are never absent from God’s grace. We may not always be aware of God’s grace, but we are never absent from it. That doesn’t mean everyone is automatically saved. Grace can be resisted. We can turn away. We can refuse what God desires to do in us. But even our ability to recognize our need for God begins with God’s gracious activity toward us.

Then comes that moment when we say yes. We believe. We surrender. We trust Jesus. But what happens the next morning?

I Surrender All—Again

Since I was listening to a gospel concert, one of the old hymns of the church came to mind: I Surrender All.

I’ve sung it hundreds of times. And I mean it. I surrender all. Today. But tomorrow morning I’ve got to surrender it all again. That’s the part of surrender I don’t think we talk about enough.

Surrender isn’t simply something I did once. Surrender is a daily activity. I can sincerely surrender my life to Christ today and wake up tomorrow determined to have my own way about something. I can place my future in God’s hands and then spend the next three days worrying about it. I can surrender my anger and discover tomorrow that I’ve picked it back up. I can tell Christ that everything I have belongs to him and then become remarkably possessive when he puts his finger on something I don’t want to release.

Perhaps that’s part of sanctification. Yesterday I surrendered “all.” Today the Holy Spirit shows me something else that “all” includes. My ambition. My resentment. My money. My need to be right. My fear. My plans. My relationships. My pain. My reputation. My future. My sin. Apparently “all” is bigger than I realized.

That doesn’t necessarily mean yesterday’s surrender wasn’t genuine. It means God isn’t finished with me. That’s the difference between justification and sanctification. The grace that forgives me is also the grace that transforms me.

“Have You Truly Surrendered?”

That’s why I’ve become uncomfortable with that question—not because it is wrong, but because it can mean several different things.

“Have you truly surrendered your life to Christ?” Are you asking whether I’ve ever trusted Christ? Yes. Are you asking whether I’ve confessed Jesus Christ as Lord? Yes. Are you asking whether there was a moment when I believed and entrusted myself to him? Yes. But are you asking whether every part of my life is completely surrendered to Christ at this particular moment? Well…

Maybe I surrendered once. Maybe I didn’t this morning. I don’t think today’s failure necessarily invalidates yesterday’s faith.

Sometimes we Christian preachers collapse justification and sanctification into one event. We see someone struggling with sin, obedience, doubt, addiction, anger, pride, or surrender, and conclude that perhaps that person was never really saved. “You need to truly surrender your life to Christ.”

Maybe. Or, perhaps the person has trusted Christ and now needs to surrender to what the Holy Spirit is trying to do next. Perhaps this isn’t a question of whether justifying grace was real. Perhaps it is a question of whether I am presently yielding myself to sanctifying grace. That’s a very different question.

Can We Fall From Grace?

And this raises another difficult question. Can I fall from grace?

As a Wesleyan, I don’t believe in “once saved, always saved” in the way that phrase is commonly understood. I believe human beings remain capable of resisting God’s grace. Scripture takes seriously the possibility of turning away from faith.

But I wonder whether “falling from grace” is always the best way to picture what happens. A fall sounds accidental. I wasn’t paying attention. I stumbled. Suddenly I’m outside the grace of God.

I’m not convinced that’s a good description of our relationship with God.

Perhaps it is better to speak of turning from grace. I can resist the Spirit. I can ignore conviction. I can refuse obedience. I can repeatedly say no to what God is asking of me. And I suppose it is possible for repeated resistance eventually to become rejection. A person can turn away from faith. I don’t know that it requires someone to stand up one morning and formally announce, “I hereby renounce Jesus Christ.” Scripture’s warnings about drifting and hardened hearts suggest that turning away may sometimes happen gradually.

But neither do I believe that every act of disobedience means I’ve fallen out of salvation.

If it did, none of us could have assurance for very long. There is a difference between struggling within a relationship with Christ and abandoning the relationship altogether.

I can be disobedient and still be a disciple, though not necessarily a good one. I can resist the Spirit and still be someone the Spirit is pursuing. I can refuse to surrender something today without concluding that everything God has done in my life until today was imaginary. In fact, the conviction I feel over my resistance may itself be evidence that grace is still at work.

Grace Doesn’t Eliminate the Will

There is another distinction I think matters. Sometimes we talk about surrender as though everything depends upon human determination. Try harder. Do better. Make yourself surrender. Sanctification isn’t self-improvement with religious vocabulary.

At the same time, surrender isn’t passive. God doesn’t surrender my life for me. The Holy Spirit convicts. The Holy Spirit draws. The Holy Spirit enables. Grace makes obedience possible. But I still have to say yes.

Maybe surrender is best understood as the grace-enabled yielding of the human will to God. That’s different from willpower. Willpower says, “I am going to make myself a better person.” Grace says, “God is at work in me, and I am yielding myself to what God desires to do.”

Paul captures that tension beautifully in Philippians: “Work hard to show the results of your salvation, obeying God with deep reverence and fear. For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases him.”

We work because God is working. We respond because grace has already acted. We surrender because the Spirit has enabled us to surrender. And tomorrow, we do it again.

Maybe That’s the Invitation

So, I’ve been thinking about that preacher’s question. “Have you truly surrendered your life to Christ?” Maybe the problem isn’t the question. Maybe we just need to understand how large the question really is. 

There is an invitation for the person who has never trusted Christ: Will you surrender your life to Jesus? Believe. Repent. Trust him. Receive the grace God has already been extending toward you.

But there is also an invitation for the person who has followed Jesus for fifty years: Will you surrender your life to Jesus? Not because your previous surrender was necessarily false. Not because every failure means you need to get saved again. But because Jesus is still Lord.

And there are still places within us where we would rather be lord.

Maybe the Christian life is learning, by grace, to surrender those places as the Spirit reveals them. Today it may be my pride. Tomorrow it may be my fear. Next year it may be something I cannot even see in myself today. That doesn’t mean grace has failed. It means grace is still working. Sanctifying grace keeps reaching into the places I haven’t surrendered yet and saying, “This too.” And I get to answer again, “Yes, Lord.”

The Goal Isn’t Becoming Better

Perhaps this is where I’ve finally landed. Christianity is often presented as though Jesus came to make us better people. I don’t think that’s quite right. Certainly, following Jesus ought to change the way we live. We should become more loving, more patient, more generous, more forgiving, more truthful, more compassionate. If decades of following Jesus leave us just as angry, selfish and cruel as we were when we began, something is wrong.

Becoming a better person isn’t the goal. We don’t follow Jesus to become better people. We follow Jesus to become like Jesus. Becoming better is the fruit, not the goal.

That’s why surrender matters. I can’t transform myself into the likeness of Christ by determination. I cannot grit my teeth and manufacture holiness. Sanctification isn’t a self-improvement project. It is the continuing work of God’s grace forming Christ in me.

My part is surrender. Not once. Again. And again. And again.

There was a day when I surrendered my life to Christ. I meant it. By God’s grace, I still mean it. But this morning there are things I need to surrender again. And tomorrow morning, if God gives me another day, I suspect there will be more. That’s not evidence that my surrender failed. Maybe that’s simply what a life of surrender looks like.

So, what about you? Have you surrendered your life to Jesus Christ?

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.

The Difficult Work of Christian Restoration

/ pastorlynnmalone / 2 Comments

Every person carries burdens. Some arrive through no fault of our own—a diagnosis, a death, a job loss, a broken relationship, a season of grief. The church is often at its best when those burdens appear. We show up with meals, prayers, financial assistance, and a steady presence. We do what we can to make sure no one carries the weight alone.

But there is another kind of burden we discuss less easily: the weight created by our own sin.

That burden may include guilt, shame, damaged trust, consequences we cannot escape, and the hard work of repentance. What does a Spirit-formed community do when someone has made a terrible decision? Do we stand back and explain why they fell? Make an example of them? Discuss their failure with everyone except them? Decide that their worst decision is the truest thing about them and leave them beneath its weight?

Or do we help them stand again?

Restoration Requires Truth and Gentleness

Paul answers that question in Galatians 6, immediately after describing the fruit of the Spirit. After naming love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control, he writes:

“Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other.”

Then Paul turns directly to the person caught in sin:

“Brothers and sisters, if someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently.”

Conceited people provoke, compare, condemn, and keep their distance. Spirit-formed people move toward the fallen with gentleness. One way to measure whether the Spirit is forming us is by examining how we respond to someone else’s failure.

Paul does not tell us to excuse the sin, pretend it never happened, call evil good, or remove every consequence. He tells us to restore the person—and to do it gently. The word translated restore was used for mending a torn net or setting a broken bone. Restoration is careful work because the person is already wounded. Even a self-inflicted wound can be made worse by careless hands. Gentleness is not weakness, and it does not require us to avoid the truth. Setting a broken bone requires us to tell the truth about what is broken. But that truth must be handled by hands committed to healing rather than humiliation.

Get Beneath the Burden

Paul continues:

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

We often separate this instruction from the verse before it and apply it only to illness, grief, or financial hardship. Those applications are right, but Paul’s immediate context is the person caught in sin. The guilt, shame, damaged relationships, and difficult road back to faithfulness are also burdens the church is called to help carry. Burden-bearing means walking with another person even through their worst decisions. It means saying:

“You have made a terrible decision. I will not pretend otherwise. But I will not abandon you beneath the weight of it. We will walk through this together.”

That kind of presence is messy and costly. It is much easier to offer advice from a distance than to get beneath the load. But when we bear another person’s burden, we embody grace. We remind the fallen that repentance is possible, forgiveness is real, consequences do not mean abandonment, and their worst decision does not have to have the final word.

Peter made a terrible decision. After promising that he would never abandon Jesus, he denied Him three times. The risen Christ did not pretend the denial never happened. On the seashore, Jesus asked Peter three times, “Do you love Me?” He brought Peter back to face his failure—not to humiliate him, but to restore him.

“Feed My sheep. Follow Me.”

Truth. Grace. Restoration. Discipleship. Jesus refused to let Peter’s worst decision have the final word.

Restore the Person, Not Necessarily the Position

Paul says, “Carry each other’s burdens,” and then, only a few sentences later, “Each one should carry their own load.” The first word can describe a crushing weight; the second points to personal responsibility. There are burdens we must help one another carry, but there are also responsibilities each person must bear before God.

Burden-bearing does not mean taking responsibility for someone else’s choices. We cannot repent for them, force them to tell the truth, manufacture humility, or perform the work of obedience on their behalf. We can walk beside them, pray, listen, speak truth, establish boundaries, and help them identify the next faithful step—but they must take it.

This distinction becomes especially important when the person once occupied a position of responsibility. In recent years, the serious moral failures of several prominent pastors have become public. Churches have then debated whether those pastors should be “restored to ministry.” But Galatians 6 tells us to restore the person. It does not necessarily tell us to restore the position.

Our task is not to rescue a career, recover a platform, or repair a reputation. It is to help the person bring the burden to Christ and return to faithful fellowship with Him and His church. Sometimes the clearest evidence of restoration is the humility to live faithfully without the former platform.

The goal is not to return people to prominence. It is to return them to faithfulness.

Restoration Is a Field We Cultivate

Paul then turns to the principle of sowing and reaping: “A man reaps what he sows.” In the larger context, he is speaking about the whole life of faithfulness, but his words certainly apply to the slow work of restoration. Restoration is hard, patient cultivation. Like a garden, the ground must be prepared, seed must be planted, weeds must be pulled, and the gardener must keep showing up and then wait.

Long conversations, intentional prayer, uncomfortable truths, patient listening, clear boundaries, practical assistance, and consistent presence are the implements of restoration. We cannot sow a few words of advice and expect an immediate harvest. Restoration is a field we cultivate, not a moment we announce. We cannot force the harvest, and the person being restored remains responsible for how they respond. Progress may be uneven. Setbacks may come. That is why Paul writes:

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

The church should be the place where sin is taken seriously but fallen people are not discarded—where truth confronts us, grace carries us, and love helps us stand again. That does not mean every relationship returns to what it was, every position is restored, or every consequence disappears. It means no person is reduced to the worst thing they have ever done, and we keep believing that the grace of Jesus can still produce a harvest of faithfulness.

Jesus did not stand at a distance and explain the burden of our sin. He came near, got beneath its weight, and carried it to the cross.

The self-righteous stand above the fallen. The followers of Jesus get beneath the burden.

We are not called to return people to prominence. We are called to return people to faithfulness. And we do not abandon people beneath the weight of their worst decisions.

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.

Forgiveness and Healing: Grace Is Greater Than the Wound

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

When someone wounds us, something inside us begins keeping an account.

They owe me an apology. They owe me an explanation. They owe me the years I lost. They owe me the innocence they took. They owe me the trust they destroyed. They owe me for the humiliation, grief, or pain they caused.

Some of those debts are real. Forgiveness does not say otherwise.

But forgiveness does determine what we will do with the debt.

Paul writes in Ephesians 4:32, “Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”

The word Paul uses for “forgiving” is charizomai. It comes from the same root as charis, the word we translate as grace. It can mean to give freely, to grant graciously, or to forgive.

Forgiveness, in Paul’s language, is grace in relational form.

It is not primarily a feeling. If we wait until we feel like forgiving, we may wait for the rest of our lives. Forgiveness is a grace-shaped decision concerning what we will do with the debt created by another person’s sin against us.

We decide that we will not spend the rest of our lives trying to collect that debt through bitterness, retaliation, humiliation, or revenge. We release our personal claim to make the other person suffer as payment for what they did, and we place justice into the hands of God.

That does not mean all earthly consequences disappear. It does not mean a crime should go unreported, restitution should never be made, or accountability should be abandoned. Grace and accountability are not enemies. Forgiveness simply means that I refuse to make revenge the organizing purpose of my life.

Forgiveness Tells the Truth

We need to speak carefully about forgiveness because, in our hurry to tell hurting people they need to forgive, Christians have sometimes failed to acknowledge how deeply they were wounded.

Forgiveness is not denying that the wound happened. It is not minimizing the seriousness of the offense. It is not calling evil good. It is not excusing the offender by saying, “They couldn’t help it,” or “It really wasn’t that bad.”

Forgiveness is not forgetting. We sometimes say, “Forgive and forget,” as though faithful Christians should be able to erase painful memories. Human minds do not work that way, and Scripture does not command spiritual amnesia. Some experiences leave marks that remain for a lifetime.

Forgiveness does not automatically restore trust. Forgiveness can be given; trust must be rebuilt through truth, repentance, consistency, and time. Reconciliation may not always be possible, and forgiveness never requires someone to remain in an abusive or unsafe relationship.

Forgiveness does not eliminate consequences. A forgiven person may still lose a position, face legal consequences, or live with a permanently changed relationship. Grace does not erase wisdom, boundaries, accountability, or justice.

These distinctions matter because some people carry not only the pain of what was done to them but also the shame of believing their continued pain proves they have failed to forgive.

Healing is not always immediate. Forgiveness may begin with a decisive act, but with a deep wound it may also require repeated surrender. We may have to place the same hurt into God’s hands more than once.

The capacity of grace to forgive never diminishes the depth of the wound.

Grace is able to tell the whole truth. It can say, “What happened was wrong. It hurt me. It changed something. There were consequences. I did not deserve it.” Grace can say all of that without allowing hatred to have the final word.

Look at the cross. God’s grace never treated sin as insignificant. At the cross, God named the horror of sin and revealed the depth of divine love at the same time. Grace tells the truth about sin—and then demonstrates that sin will not have the last word.

Grace Is Greater

When we say grace is greater than the wound, we are not comparing levels of pain. We are not telling someone, “Your wound should not matter because grace matters more.” We are saying that the sin committed against us does not possess greater power than the grace of Jesus Christ at work within us.

Grace does not make the wound smaller. Grace keeps the wound from becoming greater than Jesus Christ.

Paul does not begin with the person who hurt us, the size of the offense, or the strength of our willpower. He begins with what God has already done for us: “just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”

We do not forgive to earn grace. We forgive because we have received grace. Forgiveness is not the price we pay to be forgiven by God. It is the fruit produced in people who know how much they have already been forgiven.

Grace received becomes grace extended.

We love grace when it moves in our direction. We sing about the grace that forgives our sins and reconciles us to God. We are less enthusiastic when that same grace moves toward those who have wounded us. We want mercy to explain what we did and justice to define what they did. We want the Lord to remember our weakness but remember their wickedness.

Paul does not allow us to separate the grace we receive from the grace we extend. The grace that comes to us through Jesus Christ takes shape in the way we respond to one another.

That is why forgiveness reveals so much about our spiritual formation. It is possible to know the language of grace without being gracious. It is possible to explain forgiveness while refusing to forgive. It is possible to celebrate what Christ has done for us while resisting what Christ wants to do through us.

My capacity to forgive is directly related to the depth of my spiritual formation.

That statement is not intended to shame anyone struggling to forgive. Some wounds are extraordinarily deep, and the path of healing may be long. The struggle itself may become the place where we learn to depend upon grace more deeply than ever before.

If grace is greater than my sin, then grace is greater than the sin of the person who wounded me. And if grace is greater than the sin that wounded me, then grace is greater than the wound that sin left behind.

If grace is greater than my sin, then grace is greater than my wound.

What Is Discipling Us?

The pain of a wound is not an idol, and feeling that pain is not a spiritual failure. But a wound begins to occupy the place that belongs to Christ when it defines who we are, determines how we see others, dictates our decisions, and claims authority over our future.

Before long, we are no longer simply remembering the wound. We are allowing the wound to disciple us.

The wound may be part of my story, but grace refuses to let it become the author of my story. Forgiveness does not rewrite the past. It places the future back into the hands of Jesus.

Nearly thirty years ago, I pastored a church where two men lived in the same community, worked for the same company, and worshiped in the same congregation. Somewhere along the way, a work-related offense created a division between them. I do not remember all the details, and after all these years the details are not really the point.

What I remember is that they never found their way through it.

They continued attending the same church, but they sat on opposite sides of the sanctuary. Week after week, they worshiped the same Lord, heard the same Scriptures, and received the same grace—but the division remained between them.

Both men have now died. I do not tell their story to judge their hearts. Only God knows everything that passed between them. I tell it because their story has stayed with me.

They had moved on with their lives, but it appeared that something between them had never been surrendered to the transforming grace of Jesus Christ.

That is the danger of an unforgiven wound. Life continues. We go to work. We come to church. We sing the hymns and listen to the sermon. From the outside, it may appear that we have moved on. Yet the wound may still be deciding where we sit, whom we avoid, and how far the grace we have received will be allowed to travel through us.

Is there someone I need to forgive? Is there a wound I need to surrender again? Is there a division I have learned to live with that Jesus is calling me to address?

Forgiveness may not restore every relationship. It may not remove every consequence or erase every painful memory. But it refuses to let what happened to us become more powerful in shaping our lives than what Christ has done for us.

The wound may be part of your story, but don’t let it write the ending.

Give Jesus back the pen.

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.

Christian Encouragement Is More Than Making Us Feel Better

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

We usually hear the word encouragement and think of kind words that lift our spirits. There is nothing wrong with that. We all need people who will speak hope into our lives. A timely word can sometimes make the difference between giving up and taking the next step.

But Christian encouragement is more than helping people feel better.

If encouragement only tells us things that make us feel better but fails to tell us things that actually make us better, then it is not Christian encouragement.

Christian encouragement helps us remain faithful to Jesus. Sometimes it comforts us. Sometimes it reminds us of what is true when our circumstances have caused us to forget. Sometimes it challenges us and calls us back when we begin to wander.

It says, “Keep going. Don’t give up. Christ is faithful. You are not alone, and we are going to walk this road together.”

That kind of encouragement can only happen in community.

Holding on Together

The Christians who first received the letter to the Hebrews were growing weary. Life had become harder. Opposition was real. Some were starting to pull back from the community. Some were neglecting the gathering. A few may have been quietly wondering whether it was still worth holding on.

The writer does not scold them for being tired. He points them again to Jesus. Then he tells them how to respond:

“Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise.” Hebrews 10:23 (NLT)

Notice the language. He does not say, “Let ‘me’ hold tightly.” He says, “Let us hold tightly.”

Faith is personal, but it is never private. Each of us must trust Christ. No one else can believe or surrender to Christ for us. But we hold tightly to hope together.

There will be times when your faith is strong and the faith of the person beside you is weak. There will also be times when their faith is strong and yours is weak. That is one reason God gives us to one another.

Imagine that you and a friend are hiking on a steep trail. Your friend slips and begins to slide backward. You do not simply shout, “Hang in there!” You plant your feet, reach down, and take hold. For a moment, both of you feel the pull of the drop. But because you refuse to let go, your friend finds solid footing again.

Christian encouragement is like that. Sometimes we are the ones doing the holding. Other times we are the ones who need to be held. Christ holds us, and he has given us to one another so that we can hold on together.

Our hope is not wishful thinking or the belief that everything will work out the way we want. Our hope rests in the character of God. We hold tightly because God can be trusted.

When I cannot see what God is doing, you can remind me that God is faithful. When you wonder whether God has forgotten you, I can remind you of his promises. When one of us grows weary, others can help carry the weight.

That is how we encourage one another with hope.

Encouragement Is Not the Same as Approval

The writer continues:

“Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works.” Hebrews 10:24 (NLT)

Encouragement is intentional. It requires us to pay attention to one another. We cannot encourage people we never notice. We cannot help carry burdens we know nothing about. We cannot motivate one another toward love and good works if our only concern is our own spiritual life.

We are accountable to Christ, but we are also accountable to one another.

We have a difficult time with accountability. Part of that comes from our individualism. Part of it comes from not wanting to hurt someone’s feelings. We would rather remain silent than risk an uncomfortable conversation. And part of it comes from believing that another person’s life is none of our business.

But if we belong to the Church together, then it is our business to love one another. It is our business to care when someone is hurting. It is our business to notice when someone is wandering. It is our business to confront sin, brokenness, and division, not because we want to control one another, but because we love one another.

John Wesley described this responsibility as “watching over one another in love.”

That does not mean spying, constantly looking for faults, or using religion to control another person. It means caring enough about another person’s faithfulness that we refuse to remain indifferent.

When I begin to wander, I need someone who loves me enough to call me back. When I become discouraged, I need someone to remind me of the faithfulness of God. When I begin making excuses for behavior that damages my relationship with Christ or harms others, I need someone who will tell me the truth in love.

That is encouragement too.

We sometimes confuse encouragement with approval. But Christian encouragement is not concerned merely with making us comfortable. It is concerned with helping us become faithful.

The question is not simply, “What can I say to make this person happy?” The deeper question is, “What does this person need from me to help them remain faithful to Jesus?”

Sometimes the answer will be comfort, prayer, practical help, or a reminder of God’s promises. Sometimes it will be a difficult truth spoken with humility, gentleness, and love.

Your Presence Matters

Finally, the writer says:

“And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of his return is drawing near.” Hebrews 10:25 (NLT)

We often use this verse to tell people they ought to attend church. That is certainly part of what the writer is saying, but his concern goes deeper than filling seats in a building. He is telling us that we need one another.

We sometimes approach worship as consumers. We ask whether we enjoyed the music, whether the sermon spoke to us, whether the service met our needs, or whether we got anything out of it.

But we do not come to worship only to receive. We come to give.

We give our praise to God. We give our prayers, presence, gifts, strength, service, and encouragement to the community. Everyone has something to offer the Body of Christ.

Even when you arrive tired, discouraged, grieving, or spiritually empty, your presence may encourage someone else. Seeing you continue to trust God during a difficult season may give another person the courage to keep trusting too.

That is why withdrawing from Christian community is so dangerous. We lose more than an hour of worship. We lose the voices that remind us of hope. We lose the accountability that motivates us toward faithfulness. We lose the encouragement that helps us keep going.

And the community loses something too. It loses what we were meant to bring.

Someone needs your presence. Someone needs your prayers. Someone needs your words of hope. Someone needs you to speak the truth in love. Someone needs the example of your quiet, steady faithfulness.

And whether you realize it or not, you need those same things from them.

So here is the question I am asking myself:

Am I helping the people around me remain faithful to Jesus?

Identify one person you can encourage this week. Call them. Text them. Invite them for coffee. Listen to them. Remind them of what is true. If necessary, help them regain their footing.

Christian encouragement gives hope to those who are weary. It motivates us toward love and good works. It reminds us that we do not walk alone.

Let us hold tightly to hope. Let us think about one another. Let us gather faithfully. And let us encourage one another.

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.

What Has Institutional Success Done to the Church?

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

Questions About Multisite Churches, Institutional Spending, Consumerism, and Accountability

Over the past several posts, I have been examining eleven questions I have been asking myself about the contemporary church.

I began with questions about church leadership and then turned to questions about what happens when the church gathers. 

Four questions remain:

  1. Are multisite campuses a desire to grow God’s kingdom—or the senior pastor’s kingdom?
  2. How biblical is it for as much as 50 percent—or more—of a church’s giving to support buildings, maintenance, utilities, and staff?
  3. Has the contemporary church fostered a consumer mentality rather than genuine discipleship?
  4. Why is the contemporary church so reluctant to practice church discipline?

These may appear to be four separate issues, but I believe they belong together. Each one raises a larger question: What happens when preserving and growing the institution becomes more important than forming faithful disciples?

Once again, I am not asking these questions as someone standing outside the institutional church. I have spent more than thirty-five years as an insider. I have served as a senior pastor and district superintendent. I have made my living from the gospel for most of my adult life. I have not merely participated in these systems. I have benefited from them.

Neither am I suggesting that everything associated with institutional Christianity is necessarily wrong. Institutions can preserve important traditions, combine resources, support ministries, and accomplish things an individual congregation could never accomplish alone. But institutions also have a natural instinct for self-preservation. Over time, keeping the institution alive can become more important than fulfilling the mission for which the institution was created. That is the concern behind these four questions.

When Expansion Becomes the Mission

I understand the appeal of the multisite church model. We explored it in two of the congregations I served over the years. It can make good financial and missional sense, particularly when a larger congregation merges with a smaller or struggling one.

The larger church can provide financial resources, leadership, technology, administrative support, and ministry programs the smaller congregation could not sustain on its own. A struggling church may remain open, and a Christian presence may be preserved in a community where it might otherwise disappear. Those are good things.

Everyone wants to reach more people for Christ. At least, that is what we say our goal is. A multisite model can provide opportunities to reach people in different communities while avoiding the expense of duplicating every administrative function. I appreciate the concept.

Still, I find myself asking a question: Why not call the new location a church plant? If the goal is to establish a congregation that makes disciples and reaches its community, why must it remain a campus of the larger church? Why must it retain the larger congregation’s name, organizational identity, ministry system, and usually its primary preacher?

Does the campus have local leadership with meaningful authority? Is it being prepared to become a self-governing congregation? Is the goal to reproduce healthy churches—or to extend the reach of one church’s brand? And, perhaps most uncomfortably, is the goal to grow God’s kingdom or our kingdom?

I am not suggesting that every multisite church is driven by ego or control. That would be an unfair judgment about motives I cannot know. Some multisite churches are undoubtedly reaching people and doing meaningful ministry.

But the model deserves examination. Bigger is not necessarily better. Expansion is not necessarily multiplication. Increasing the audience of one gifted communicator is not necessarily the same thing as forming a new congregation with mature local leaders.

Perhaps the real test is not how many campuses a church has but what kind of disciples and leaders those campuses are producing. If every campus remains dependent upon the personality, preaching, and authority of one senior pastor, have we planted churches—or merely expanded a platform?

When Maintaining the Church Consumes the Church

I am writing this while attending the General Conference of my denomination, the Evangelical Methodist Church. As part of that meeting, I have been looking at financial information from our congregations. The numbers raise difficult questions.

In many smaller churches, more than 50 percent of the congregation’s giving is allocated to pastoral support. Once denominational support, insurance, utilities, maintenance, and other facility expenses are added, as much as 80 percent of the church’s income may already be committed. That leaves very little margin for ministry and outreach.

This is not an argument against paying pastors. Scripture clearly supports those who receive their living from the gospel. As one who has received his living from the gospel for most of his adult life, it would be more than a little hypocritical for me to suggest otherwise.

Nor is it an argument against maintaining church property. Buildings require electricity, insurance, repairs, and upkeep. Those expenses are real and ignoring them does not make them disappear.

The problem is not that churches have expenses. The problem is what happens when almost everything a congregation receives is required simply to keep the congregation operating. At what point does maintaining the church consume the church?

We regularly say, “The church is not a building.” Our budgets, however, sometimes tell another story. They may reveal that maintaining the building, supporting the staff, and preserving the organization have become our highest priorities.

Again, I understand how this happens. A congregation loves its pastor. It values the building where generations have worshiped, married, baptized their children, and buried their loved ones. The building holds memories that cannot be measured on a financial statement. But a difficult question remains: If 80 percent of a church’s giving is required to maintain its staff, building, and denominational obligations, how much is left to feed the hungry, care for the poor, serve the community, support missions, and make disciples?

Perhaps an even harder question is this: Are we supporting these things because they advance the mission, or has preserving them become the mission? The institution was created to support the ministry of the church. The ministry of the church was never intended merely to support the institution.

When Disciples Become Consumers

Church-hopping and church-shopping have become normal in the United States. When we want a strong children’s ministry, we look for the church with the best children’s ministry. When our children become teenagers, we search for the church with the largest youth group, the most activities, the best facilities, or the most dynamic youth pastor.

I have watched this happen in churches I served. Families would participate in our children’s ministry, but once their children became teenagers, they migrated to the bigger church because it offered more opportunities for their teens.

I understand the impulse. Parents want their children to enjoy church. They want them to build Christian friendships, learn the faith, and have experiences that will encourage them to follow Christ. Confession: I’ve got teenage grandchildren. I want the same for them.

But I have begun to wonder whether we parents (and grandparents) have abdicated our responsibility for our children’s faith development to the professionals. We have outsourced discipleship.

We began to believe our children needed a professional children’s minister, a professional youth minister, and a full calendar of religious activities more than they needed parents who prayed with them, opened Scripture with them, worshiped beside them, served with them, and demonstrated a life of faith before them.

Churches have helped create this expectation. We compete for families by offering more programs, better facilities, larger events, and specialized ministries for every age and stage of life. In the process, we can unintentionally communicate that discipleship is something religious professionals provide for us. That is what consumerism does. It changes the question.

Instead of asking, “Where is God calling us to belong, serve, sacrifice, and grow?” we ask, “Which church offers the most for me and my family?”

The church becomes another provider of goods and services, which happen to be religious in nature. Worship becomes something we attend. Ministry becomes something the staff performs. Discipleship becomes another program we consume. And when another church offers a better product, we move.

I am not opposed to children’s or youth ministry. I am grateful for those who invest in children and teenagers. But no church program can replace the role of parents (and grandparents) in the spiritual formation of their children. The church should equip parents for that responsibility, not encourage them to surrender it. Have we become so focused on attracting families that we have forgotten how to form them?

When Accountability Threatens Attendance

Consumer Christianity also helps explain why church discipline has largely disappeared. No one seems to be accountable anymore—morally or theologically. We are reluctant to address destructive behavior because we do not want to appear judgmental. After all, we are all sinners. We are afraid of being hypocritical, unloving, or legalistic.

Those concerns are understandable. Church discipline has sometimes been practiced harshly, selectively, and publicly. Certain sins have been exposed while others were excused. Ordinary members have been disciplined while influential leaders were protected. What was supposed to produce restoration sometimes produced humiliation instead. We should repent of those abuses.

But the misuse of church discipline does not eliminate the need for loving accountability. “We are all sinners” is a reason to practice accountability humbly. It is not a reason to abandon accountability altogether.

The New Testament vision of the church is not a gathering of people who mind their own business while sitting near one another for an hour each week. It is a community whose members belong to one another. They encourage, teach, correct, forgive, restore, and bear with one another. That kind of life requires accountability.

Of course, accountability becomes difficult when people relate to the church primarily as consumers. Consumers do not expect to be corrected by the businesses they patronize. If they become dissatisfied, they take their business somewhere else. Church leaders know this.

If we challenge someone’s behavior, question a theological conviction, or call for repentance, that person may leave. Their family may leave with them. Their giving may leave too. They will probably find another church down the road that asks fewer questions. The temptation is to remain silent. But a church that is afraid to lose people will eventually become afraid to disciple people.

Biblical accountability is not about controlling people, policing every failure, or pretending some of us have risen above the need for grace. It is about loving one another enough to tell the truth and walking with one another toward restoration.

Perhaps the disappearance of church discipline reveals something deeper. Meaningful accountability requires meaningful belonging. It is difficult to hold one another accountable when relationships are shallow, attendance is optional, and participation consists primarily of watching a few people conduct a service. Church discipline cannot be separated from church community. We cannot expect accountability from people who have never been taught that they belong to one another.

What Are We Actually Building?

Multisite campuses, church buildings, paid pastors, denominational structures, children’s programs, youth ministries, and organizational growth are not inherently wrong. Each can serve the mission of the church. The danger comes when these things cease to serve the mission and quietly become the mission.

A church can have multiple campuses, excellent facilities, strong programs, growing attendance, and a substantial budget while failing to form people who live under the lordship of Jesus. A smaller congregation can devote nearly all its resources to preserving its pastor, property, and programs while having little margin left for the ministry it is trying to preserve.

Both may be institutionally successful—or at least institutionally committed—without necessarily being faithful to the mission Jesus gave His church. Perhaps the most important question is not whether our churches are growing, adequately funded, programmatically successful, or institutionally secure. Perhaps the question is whether our life together is forming people who look more like Jesus.

Are we making disciples—or merely attracting attenders? Are we multiplying churches—or extending brands? Are our resources supporting ministry—or is ministry supporting the institution? Are we forming children in the faith—or outsourcing their discipleship? Are we loving one another enough to practice humble, restorative accountability—or are we too afraid someone might leave?

Institutions have a way of convincing us that their survival is essential to the kingdom of God. It is not. The kingdom existed before our institutions, and it will remain long after they are gone.

The church must always be willing to ask whether its structures are helping fulfill the mission of Jesus or hindering it. Everything else—our buildings, budgets, programs, positions, campuses, and denominational systems—must remain secondary to that purpose.

We should not be asking only whether the institution is succeeding. We should be asking what its success is producing.

No Easy Answers

I know. I’ve raised a lot of questions. Many of which have no answer. Or, the answer will be different in every congregation. 

I haven’t asked these questions to condemn anyone or anything. I asked them of myself as one who leads in the institution. I just asked them out loud in the hopes that other leaders might ask themselves, and in so doing, that we might all be more faithful in our leadership.

As usual, my questions only raise more questions. Perhaps they did for you, too. I’d love for you to share your questions with me. Leave them in the comments below.

Until next time, keep looking up…

What Happened to the Church Gathering?

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

Questions About Participation, Preaching, Communion, and the One-Hour Worship Service

Fair warning: This post is longer than most. I’m supposed to be writing a blog, not a book. Even so, these four questions belong together, so I hope you will persevere to the end.

In my last post, I considered three questions about church leadership: the role of the senior pastor, denominational hierarchy, and professionalized ministry.

Today, I want to turn from who leads the church to what happens when the church gathers.

Four of my original eleven questions belong together:

  1. Is the church supposed to be a gathering of non-participants?
  2. When did church gatherings become sermon-centered?
  3. When did the church lose its weekly commitment to the Lord’s Supper?
  4. Were early church gatherings limited to one hour?

Once again, I am not standing outside the church criticizing what everyone else is doing. I have planned and led more worship services than I could possibly count. I have selected songs, prepared sermons, written liturgies, scheduled volunteers, administered Communion, and watched the clock—yes, that clock that hangs above the back door.

I have worried about whether the service flowed smoothly. I have shortened parts of the service when I knew my sermon would be long. I have felt the pressure to finish on time. I have also stood at the door after worship hoping people were pleased with what they experienced.

I am not questioning practices in which I have merely participated. I am questioning practices I have helped create and continue to perpetuate. That doesn’t necessarily make those practices wrong. It does mean I should be willing to examine them.

Is the Church Supposed to Be a Gathering of Non-Participants?

Most churches say they want people to participate. We invite people to sing, pray, give, serve, and respond to the sermon. Even so, most of what happens during a typical worship service is performed by a relatively small group of people.

The pastor preaches. The worship team sings. The musicians play. Designated people pray, read Scripture, make announcements, receive the offering, and serve Communion. Everyone else watches, listens, and participates when instructed.

There are practical reasons for that arrangement. A worship gathering needs order. Not everyone is gifted to preach, sing, teach, or lead publicly. Giving everyone an opportunity to say whatever is on their mind could produce something closer to chaos than worship.

Paul certainly valued order. When addressing the church in Corinth, he instructed them that everything should be done properly and in order. But the same passage also presents a picture of participation that feels unfamiliar to many of us:

“When you meet together, one will sing, another will teach, another will tell some special revelation God has given, one will speak in tongues, and another will interpret what is said. But everything that is done must strengthen all of you.” (1 Corinthians 14:26 NLT)

Whatever else we make of that passage, Paul seems to assume that different members of the congregation will contribute something when the church gathers.

That reflects his larger understanding of the church as a body. Every member has a function. Every member has received gifts from the Spirit. Every member has something to contribute to the health and mission of the whole. How, then, did the gathering of the church become an event in which most people are spectators?

Perhaps part of the answer is that our gatherings became larger. Participation that might occur naturally in a home becomes more difficult in a room filled with hundreds or thousands of people.

Perhaps another part of the answer is our desire for excellence and predictability. We want the music rehearsed, the transitions smooth, the message prepared, and the service completed on time. Spontaneous participation is difficult to plan, control, and fit into the order of worship.

Again, none of those concerns is necessarily wrong. Preparation can honor God and serve the congregation. Disorder does not automatically indicate the presence of the Holy Spirit. But has our desire for order gradually eliminated meaningful participation? Have we unintentionally taught people that their role in worship is to arrive, sit down, sing when invited, listen to the sermon, and go home?

Attending a worship service is not the same as participating in the body of Christ.

When Did Church Gatherings Become Sermon-Centered?

I need to tread carefully here. I am a preacher. Preaching has been central to my calling and ministry for more than thirty-five years. I believe in proclaiming the gospel. I believe Scripture should be read, taught, explained, and applied to our lives. This is not an argument against preaching. It is a question about the place preaching has come to occupy in our gatherings.

In many Protestant churches, the sermon is the defining feature of worship. Even the architecture of our sanctuaries communicates the significance of the sermon—we have “pulpit-centered” sanctuaries. Everything before the sermon prepares for it. Everything after the sermon responds to it. The length of the service is often determined by it. I have heard church members call everything leading up to the sermon “the preliminaries.” Worse, I’ve heard pastors call it that!

If the music is exceptional but the sermon is poor, people may say the service was disappointing. If the pastor is absent, attendance sometimes declines because people prefer to wait until “the preacher” returns.

I know because I have helped create that expectation. I have promoted worship by telling people what I would be preaching. I have encouraged church members to invite their friends to hear a particular sermon. I have sometimes acted as though the congregation gathered primarily to hear what I had to say. Preaching matters, but was the sermon intended to carry so much of the weight of the church’s life?

The earliest Christians devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching. Teaching clearly mattered. But they also devoted themselves to fellowship, sharing meals—including the Lord’s Supper—and prayer. The church gathered to hear the Word, but it also gathered to pray, eat, share, encourage, discern, testify, give, and care for one another. Somewhere along the way, many of those elements moved toward the margins while the sermon moved to the center.

Prayer was shortened. Testimony became unpredictable and occasionally uncomfortable. Conversation was moved to a Sunday school class or small group. Shared discernment was assigned to a committee or leadership board. The Lord’s Supper became an occasional addition to the regular service. The sermon remained.

Perhaps that happened because a sermon is efficient. One person can prepare during the week and speak to the whole congregation at once. It is easier to control than open participation. It fits neatly within the allotted time.

It also reinforces the centrality of the pastor. The pastor studies. The pastor hears from God. The pastor explains what the Bible means. The congregation receives what the pastor has prepared. That arrangement may produce informed listeners. But does it necessarily form mature disciples?

People can listen to thousands of sermons without learning to read Scripture for themselves, pray with one another, discern the Spirit’s direction, articulate their faith, or participate in Christ’s mission. The question is not whether we should preach. The question is whether we have asked preaching to do what the entire body of Christ was intended to do.

When Did the Church Lose Its Weekly Commitment to the Lord’s Supper?

This question may expose the imbalance more clearly than any of the others. The earliest Christians gathered regularly around the Table. Acts tells us that they devoted themselves to the breaking of bread. Acts 20 describes believers gathering on the first day of the week to break bread. Paul’s instructions to the Corinthians suggest that the Lord’s Supper was a normal part of their life together—even if they were observing it badly enough to require correction.

The evidence may not allow us to establish that every congregation celebrated Communion every week in precisely the same way. Still, the Table appears to have occupied a far more central place in the early church than it does in many churches today.

How did we arrive at a pattern in which the sermon is offered every week while the Lord’s Supper is offered once a month, once a quarter, or even (heaven help us!) once a year?

I grew up in a tradition that celebrated Communion quarterly. Later, monthly Communion became more common. In some churches, even monthly Communion can feel like an interruption to the regular order of worship—something that makes the service run long.

Think about what that communicates. We make room every week for the preacher’s words but only occasionally for the bread and the cup. At the Table, the focus shifts away from the preacher. We remember Christ’s death. We receive the signs of His grace. We confess our need. We gather not as customers evaluating a religious presentation but as sinners who come with empty hands.

Communion also reminds us that Christianity is not merely a private relationship between Jesus and me. We do not receive the bread and cup alone. We come to a shared Table as the body of Christ. Rich and poor come to the same Table. Young and old come to the same Table. Republicans and Democrats come to the same Table. Those who agree and those who struggle to understand one another come to the same Table. We receive the same grace because we share the same need.

Perhaps that is part of what we lost when the sermon became weekly and the Meal became occasional. The sermon can be evaluated individually: What did I learn? Did I enjoy it? Did it speak to me? The Table confronts us with a different reality. Christ gave Himself for us, and in Christ we belong to one another.

I am not suggesting that weekly Communion would automatically renew the church. We can participate in the Lord’s Supper thoughtlessly just as easily as we can listen to a sermon thoughtlessly. But perhaps the frequency of our practices reveals something about our priorities. What does it say when we consider thirty minutes of preaching essential but ten minutes at the Lord’s Table optional?

Were Early Church Gatherings Limited to One Hour?

Let me say immediately that longer services are not necessarily more spiritual. I have attended long worship services that were deeply meaningful. I have also attended long worship services that only felt long. A three-hour service can be every bit as lifeless as a one-hour service.

The issue is not simply how long we gather. The issue is why one hour has become the expected limit in so many churches.

We print the times on signs, websites, and social media. Worship begins at 10:30 and should end around 11:30. If the service goes fifteen minutes long, people begin looking at their watches. Parents become concerned about children. Restaurant plans are affected. Volunteers in the nursery wonder if they have been forgotten. I even had an uncle who was a member of one of my churches whose watch alarm went off promptly at noon every Sunday. Such a nice reminder for the preacher. And, from a family member, too…

Some of those concerns are legitimate. Time matters. People have responsibilities. Children have limits. Respecting people’s time can be an expression of hospitality. But our anxiety about time may reveal something deeper.

We routinely spend several hours at ball games, concerts, movies, festivals, and other activities we value. We arrive early. We stay late. We do not resent overtime when the experience matters to us. Yet an additional fifteen minutes in worship can feel like an unreasonable demand. Why?

Perhaps it is because we approach worship as one appointment among many. We have given God His hour, and we expect the church to honor the arrangement. The one-hour expectation also shapes what can happen when we gather. There is time for a few songs, announcements, an offering, a prayer, and a sermon. There may not be time for people to share what God is doing in their lives. There may not be time for extended prayer, silence, conversation, testimony, or discernment. There may not even be time for Communion unless something else is shortened. The schedule favors the predictable. It rewards efficiency. It makes participation difficult.

Again, the answer is not necessarily to make every service longer. Perhaps the answer is to ask whether everything the church needs to do when it gathers can—or should—be compressed into a single hour.

Maybe some of what we expect from Sunday morning needs to happen in smaller gatherings where people can know one another, pray for one another, confess to one another, bear one another’s burdens, and contribute their gifts.

The deeper concern is not the length of the service. It is whether our gatherings are structured primarily around convenience or around the formation of a people. Perhaps the deeper problem is that we have made the Sunday worship service virtually synonymous with the gathering of the church—and then tried to compress everything the church is called to be into that single hour.

The Church Is Not an Audience

I am not calling for the elimination of sermons, worship teams, planned services, or established times. I am asking whether our gatherings are accomplishing what they were intended to accomplish. Are people merely attending, or are they participating? Are sermons equipping people to engage Scripture and follow Jesus, or are they creating a congregation dependent upon the preacher?

Does the Lord’s Table occupy a central place in our life together, or has it become an occasional addition to a sermon-centered service? Does our use of time reflect thoughtful stewardship, or does the sixty-minute limit reveal how little room we have made for worship in our lives?

Perhaps we need to recover gatherings in which more members of the body have something meaningful to contribute. Perhaps we need more room for prayer, testimony, conversation, silence, discernment, and response. Perhaps we need to come to the Lord’s Table more frequently and remember that Christ—not the preacher—is the center of our gathering.

Not every congregation will answer these questions in the same way. A church of thirty people will gather differently from a church of three thousand. A congregation meeting in a home will have possibilities that a congregation meeting in a large sanctuary may not have.

The New Testament gives us principles without handing us a complete order of worship. That gives us freedom, but it also gives us responsibility. We are free to develop forms appropriate to our time, place, and circumstances. But we are responsible for asking what those forms are producing.

Perhaps the problem is not that we have sermons, planned worship, or an established order of service. Perhaps the problem is that the order has become so fixed, the sermon so dominant, and participation so limited that most people can attend church for years without ever believing they have anything meaningful to contribute to the gathered body. The church is not an audience. It is a body.

When the body gathers, every member may not speak, sing, preach, or lead. But every member should understand that they have been given grace, gifts, and responsibility for the good of the whole.

Once again, I have generated more questions than answers. Then again, I’m not the perfect pastor.

That doesn’t keep me from trying—or from asking more questions.

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.

Who Leads the Church?

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

Questions About Senior Pastors, Denominational Hierarchy, and Professional Ministry

In my last post, I shared eleven questions I have been asking myself about the contemporary church. Today, I want to dig deeper into three of them:

  1. Is the senior pastor a truly biblical role?
  2. Is denominational hierarchy a biblical concept?
  3. Is professionalized ministry the biblical model?

These questions belong together because they all concern leadership—who leads the church, how that leadership is structured, and what leaders are supposed to do.

Once again, I need to acknowledge my complicity. I have been a senior pastor. I have been a district superintendent. I have worked for a denomination. I have received my living from the gospel for most of my adult life. I have not merely participated in these systems. I have benefited from them.

That doesn’t necessarily make the systems wrong. It does mean that I am not casting aspersions. I am questioning structures in which I have spent more than thirty-five years of my life.

Is the Senior Pastor a Truly Biblical Role?

The New Testament certainly recognizes leaders in the church. It speaks of apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, teachers, elders, overseers, and deacons.

What I have trouble finding is anything that looks quite like the modern senior pastor.

In many churches, the senior pastor is the primary preacher, chief executive, vision-caster, staff supervisor, fundraiser, institutional manager, public face, and central spiritual authority. That is a lot to place on one person. I know. I have been that person (and I still am).

I have also helped create churches in which too much revolved around me. I was the primary preacher. I was expected to cast the vision. I was the one people called when they needed prayer, counsel, a hospital visit, a decision, or an answer.

Some of that came with the calling. Some of it came with the structure. Some of it probably came from my own need to feel important. That last one is difficult to admit.

The New Testament seems to picture leadership as more shared. Elders are generally spoken of in the plural. Spiritual gifts are distributed throughout the body. Every member has a function. No part can say to another, “I don’t need you.”

Does that mean having a senior pastor is inherently unbiblical? I’m not prepared to say that. But I am prepared to ask what happens when so much authority, visibility, and responsibility become concentrated in one person.

The pastor begins to carry expectations no human can fulfill. Preach well. Lead decisively. Counsel wisely. Visit faithfully. Manage effectively. Grow the church. Resolve conflict. Be available. Keep everyone happy. When the church grows, the pastor receives too much credit. When it declines, the pastor receives too much blame.

The congregation can also become dependent upon the pastor. The pastor prays. The pastor teaches. The pastor visits. The pastor evangelizes. The pastor hears from God and tells everyone else where the church is going. That may create an efficient institution, but does it create a healthy body?

Perhaps the problem is not that churches have senior pastors. Perhaps the problem is that the senior pastor has become the center of gravity around which the congregation revolves. Christ—not the pastor—is the head of the church.

Is Denominational Hierarchy a Biblical Concept?

This question gets even more personal because I have seen denominational connection at its best, and at its worst.

Denominations can provide accountability, theological identity, shared resources, clergy standards, mission partnerships, and opportunities that individual congregations could never provide on their own. I have benefited from all of those things.

And accountability matters to me. When I left one denomination I joined another for that very reason. I suppose that’s why this question causes so much cognitive dissonance for me.

The New Testament church was not simply a loose collection of congregations with no connection or responsibility to one another. Churches shared resources. Leaders traveled among them. The apostles provided instruction and correction. Acts 15 describes leaders gathering to address an issue affecting the wider church.

Connection is biblical. Accountability is biblical. Shared discernment is biblical. But is everything our denominational systems have become biblical?

Boards create agencies. Agencies create offices. Offices develop policies. Policies require administrators. Administrators require budgets. Before long, a structure created to support ministry requires enormous energy simply to support itself.

I understand why many of those structures developed. Heck, I helped administer some of them. They were usually created to solve real problems or accomplish something worthwhile. But every institution eventually develops an instinct for self-preservation.

When does connection become control? When does accountability become bureaucracy? When does theological oversight become institutional gatekeeping? When does preserving the denomination become more important than serving its congregations and advancing the mission?

Denominational structures are not necessarily wrong because we cannot find them outlined in the New Testament. Neither are they sacred simply because we inherited them. They are tools. Tools should be evaluated by whether they still serve their intended purpose.

The local church does not exist to maintain the denomination. The denomination exists to help the church follow Christ and participate in His mission. When that order becomes reversed, something has gone wrong.

The problem? Those on the inside don’t always see the issue. They see themselves as “helping” the church and “fulfilling” the mission. I know because I was one who saw it that way.

Is Professionalized Ministry the Biblical Model?

Let me be clear: Scripture provides for the financial support of those who devote themselves to preaching and teaching.

I am grateful for the churches that have supported my family and me through the years. Their generosity allowed me to devote time and attention to ministry that I could not have given otherwise.

The problem is not that we pay pastors. The problem is that ministry can gradually become something performed primarily by the people who are paid to do it.

We call pastors “ministers,” which can subtly imply that everyone else is something other than a minister. We hire staff to teach, visit, disciple, organize, lead worship, conduct outreach, and administer the church. Eventually, the pastor and staff perform the ministry while everyone else attends, gives, and occasionally volunteers.

Pastors become religious service providers. Church members become their customers. Members expect the professionals to provide good preaching, meaningful worship, pastoral care, children’s ministry, student ministry, and opportunities for the family. If one church does not provide what they want, they can usually find another one that does.

That arrangement may keep the institution operating, but is it the biblical vision of the body of Christ?

Paul wrote that Christ gave apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers “to equip God’s people to do his work and build up the church.” The leaders are not given to do all the ministry for God’s people. They are given to equip God’s people for ministry. There is a significant difference.

Perhaps the measure of a pastor’s ministry is not how much the pastor personally accomplishes. Perhaps it is how effectively the pastor helps people become more like Christ and participate in His mission.

A church can have excellent preaching, polished worship, strong programs, and a large staff while its members remain mostly passive. They can be well served without ever being equipped to serve.

Professional ministry should not relieve the saints of ministry. It should prepare the saints for ministry.

Giving Ministry Away

I am not calling for churches to eliminate senior pastors, dismantle denominations, or stop paying ministry leaders. I am asking whether our structures are accomplishing what they were intended to accomplish.

Does the pastor help people depend more deeply upon Christ, or does the congregation become increasingly dependent upon the pastor? Does the denomination strengthen local churches for mission, or do local churches increasingly exist to maintain the denomination? Does professional ministry equip God’s people to do the work of ministry, or does it quietly teach them to leave ministry to the professionals?

Perhaps faithful Christian leadership can be measured, at least in part, by how willingly it gives ministry away.

Jesus did not gather disciples merely to watch Him work. He taught them, formed them, corrected them, empowered them, and sent them. He gave them real responsibility and invited them to participate in His mission.

The church will always need leaders. But it needs leaders who understand that the goal is not to build ministry around themselves. The goal is to equip the whole body to become more like Christ for the sake of others.

Once again, it appears that my questions only lead to more questions—questions for which I really don’t have answers. I suppose that’s another reason I’m not the perfect pastor.

But that doesn’t keep me from trying…or asking more questions.

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.