This is part two of my post. If you’re looking for part one, click here!
“What are you?” was the question I never entirely answered.
I wanted an answer, preferably one that came with colleagues and well-developed resources.
What people often perceived as us doing ministry “outside the box” was simply us jumping from box to box.
This wasn’t about wanting a bunch of ministerial shortcuts.
It was about loneliness.
When I was out on my own, with nothing but a few people, a little money, and a couple dreams standing between myself and ministerial oblivion, I felt like Atlas, holding up the world with nothing but the force of my will and the sweat of my body.
It’s even more lonely when planting in a denomination that often doesn’t believe in church planting. (I can’t count the number of colleagues who have said, “Plant a church? Why don’t we just spent that money on the churches we already have?)
It’s even more isolating when planting with a model that doesn’t exist and hasn’t been recognized by many experts as legitimate. (When we started, many church planting experts believed that unless you had a large core team, a space, a worship launch plan, and about 150,000 dollars, you were dead on arrival.)
It’s even more frustrating when you’re starting a ministry that not everyone believes is church. (There were a lot of people who, when they heard we didn’t have a building or weekly worship, would nod enthusiastically and say, “So you’re not a church! You’re a community ministry!)
It’s even more difficult when you can’t find anyone else who’s doing the same thing you are.
The “Are you crazy?” question was not just asked by the many well-intentioned people around us, it was asked by us as well.
And so, in the interest of trying to figure out what the hell we were doing, I went to a lot of exceptionally well-done conferences to listen to experts in my field.
The experts would came up on stage, stripped down to their ministerial underwear, do a nice song and dance, and then ask for our twenties.
In retrospect, the experience was more voyeuristic than I (or anyone else) would care to admit.
Many of us like looking at the undergarments of the various successful ministry-du-jour that we feel we should imitating. How do they run worship? How do they manage staff? What’s the exciting “I’m calling you out on the carpet” righteous anger story? What’s their own personal lifetime movie moment, complete with pain, angst, lost, and a beautifully staged ending? What are the sure-fire methods that will, without a doubt, allow us to replicate exactly what they’re doing?
The speakers were always more enthusiastic, more humorous, and more articulate than I was.
I listened to their systems for ministry that were clearly better thought out than mine.
I’d think, “We should do that.”
However, as I didn’t discover until much later, there was a very significant problem with accepting whatever latest ministerial strip-tease came my way.
Take Mike Breen (or, Hugh Halter or Alan Hirsch or Diana Butler Bass, or whoever else works for you).
(Incidentally, I currently think that the whole neo-monastic micro-missional community thing could be the Next Big Thing! I’m warning you Elaine Heath – you now have potential groupies!)
Mike Breen is a great guy. He knows how to plant churches without buildings. He believes in the centrality of following Jesus as a 24/7 way of life. He knows the importance of people simply sharing life together. He has discipleship processes that work for people without a college education. I’ve learned a lot from him.
However, imagine wearing Mike Breen’s underwear.
I’m sure he wears very great, very British, very godly underwear. But do you really want to wear anyone else’s ministerial underpants especially after they’ve worn them for a few decades?
The fit is never going to be right, and you’re going to start stinking in a way that isn’t entirely you.
Each time we picked up a new model, it gave us cover. “Look!” we could say, “Of course it’s legitimate! There are books about it. There are even famous people speaking about it!” We could go to a conference, meet some of the people, and perhaps finally have some brothers and sisters who not only supported us, but got us – got what drove us, got the challenges we faced, got our desires for the future.
However, when you mix a perfect ministry system with messy people, you always end up with a less than perfect fit.
I’d look at our Friday morning Bible study and say: “Wait? What purpose does that solve? Could that ever really become a missional community? Does it become a huddle? Could we get rid of it? Could we change it?”
I’d look at our volunteer time at the local soup kitchen and say, “Wait? That doesn’t fit as any of these essential ministry priorities I’m supposed to have now. Could it be taking energy away from more important work?”
I’d look at our leaders, who I developed through a nice home-baked curriculum, and go, “Shit, now I have to redevelop you all, using this much better curriculum than that mess I came up with last year.”
I’d look at your community priorities and say, “You’ve been doing this, you like this, and now I have to convince you to do that. How the hell do I does that happen?”
I learned that if you don’t know, down to the tips of your toes, you’ll get in trouble.
I learned that unless your vision can stand comfortably alongside other forms of ministry developed by people who are at least as smart as you (and probably more successful and respected than you), then you’re just building your house on the sand. Every time the tide changes, the whole thing will come crashing down – again and again and again.
I wish that I had given up trying to find a good box to fit in.
I wish that I had stopped trying to find a group of people where I’d be normal and just grown comfortable being weird.
I wish that when people had asked, “What are you?” I had replied, “I don’t know. But whatever it is, I’m pretty sure God likes it.”
What Do You Think?
1) Who’s underpants have you been wearing recently? (Metaphorically speaking, of course, we are not that type of blog.)
2) What does it mean to create an identity that is simply yours?
Coming Next Week! Part Nine: We Are Not a Nice Church