Say The Thing, Not Anything

The pricey church consultants liked what we were doing at the small mega church I was serving. I was skeptical that they’d have anything useful to say, but for the amount of money we’d  shelled out, I was curious what their critique would be. Our particular silo, one of many at the church, was deemed—surprisingly—as functioning so well, the consultants recommended that the rest of the church imitate us. That was a nice bit of affirmation. These are amazing consultants, I decided, and worth every single penny!  

Unfortunately, if not completely predictably, this created a Joseph’s coat situation almost immediately. Folks in the other silos didn’t appreciate being compared to ours when their roles were different. And yet, the comparison happened, and what the consultants picked up on was pretty simple; what we were doing worked. We loved each other; we supported each other. We forgave and were forgiven by each other. All of this created an environment of trust. Our orientation was focused on God, and everything flowed from that. The vertical deeply affected the horizontal. That still seems too ethereal of a response. Was there something actionable, repeatable, replicable in what we were doing, or were we that wonderful?

I’ve spent years trying to answer that question, not about my wonderfulness, the other question. As a lay person involved in ministry, I have to ask myself a question first; how do I view my place within the body? How did I fit within that group of pastors, not being a pastor? One shortcut I’ve used is—I’m not a minister, but I minister. I usually cite Ephesians 4:12, particularly the way some translations use the word “ministry,” boldly arguing my point by eisegeting “equipping the body for the work of the ministry.”

During a recent conversation—over burritos—the Lutheran theologian Ken Sundet Jones gently cautioned me about my use of the word “ministry,” wanting me to tighten the terminology, define it. A minister’s job, he reminded me, was the Word and sacrament; delivering “the goods” of the gospel. Lay folks’ primary vocation is whatever we have been given to do, parent to professional leaf blower, to serve our neighbor. Both roles involve taking up our cross, sharing in Christ’s suffering—which is marked by hope. We are people of the resurrection, after all. 

Depending on your ecclesiology, this definition either just simplified the answer I asked myself earlier, or constrained it to an uncomfortable pinch point. Not growing up Lutheran, I think I exist somewhere between relieved and pinched. Seeing what pastors go through simply in doing their jobs—I’ll stick with being part of the laity, with relief and pleasure. It’s not my vocation.

A church isn’t simply the minister, so the care and service that happens among the body could also be called ministry. I know I’ll probably keep calling it that out of habit because it often looks the same. Folks serving in the unofficial diaconate found in many churches, discover themselves serving in a sort of hybrid role between laity and clergy, and without a pension plan. Having lived that reality, any harsh distinctions get quickly blurred. My vocation, my call, was to the blur.

Despite the fuzziness of my position, I did have a great perch to view how things worked in the church. My time ministering (using the looser definition of the word) in that body, was one of the most important experiences of my life, to this day. It helped to form me. Because the ministry of the Word was considered vital, it became vital to me. It was my vocation for that time, supporting what they were doing. Yet, another church context I was in served as an almost perfect antonym to the healthy one, proving this quote from Paul Zahl’s book, Grace in Practice, “the observation of churches always ends in disappointment.” Enough said.

That same perch I’ve had the privilege to view these churches from hasn’t given me a great eagerness to tackle this subject, though. It’s not because there isn’t anything to say, but because the stakes are so high in saying anything at all. I’ve watched what happened when the ministry of the Word was central, and when it wasn’t. In the latter context, where the goods of the gospel weren’t given, the clergy tried to control the flock, and the vocation of the laity within the church. Even to the point of shaming and shunning folks engaged in those ministries. I’m not sure if this was simply ego, a need for control and power, a misguided sense of propriety over something that’s outside a pastor’s purview, or possibly (most likely) cooties. What I am sure about is the harm it causes the body and the witness of Christ. 

How does this happen? Having been asked to say something to the dear readers about observing what God is doing in the church, and how to look for it, I was surprised at how quickly an answer formed. Beyond the obvious critique of the barriers we put up to prevent that doing, my immediate thought, one that forces its way to the front is … Jesus Christ came to save sinners, of which I’m chief.

If you, as ministers and leaders, haven’t received the goods of the Gospel, it’s hard to proclaim it. There is no future in your local church body without Christ in the present. Any discussion of ministry methods or techniques sounds like inanity if we don’t start with Christ. I also think there isn’t anything beyond that either. Freed people ministering to each other now is all part of the fruit of our future in Christ. What’s God doing in your local context? If Christ is proclaimed, God is already doing, because it’s already done. 

Robert Farrar Capon wrote in The Astonished Heart, “Any form we adopt must be such that it disposes us to shout from the housetops, both to those inside and outside it, ‘By grace you were saved through faith’ not ‘Here is the perfect recipe for getting your act together.’”

If there is better news, I don’t know what it is. If you have better news, I  don’t believe it. If there is something else you think you should be saying … my advice is, don’t. You’ve already been given what to say, so say it and see what God does.