“But I support neither plan,” said Earl. His voice was quiet, but firm.
“But you have to!” The chairman, Gerald, sounded exasperated. “We all know you don’t like to argue, but you have to support one plan or the other. That’s how we decided to do this.”
“But I don’t. I don’t want either of these plans. Neither of them will work.” Earl didn’t raise his voice. It remained steady. Several of the men in the room assumed this meant that he wasn’t firm. Their approach was to raise their voices in order to sound more determined.
“We have a tie vote,” said Gerald again. “That gives you a duty to cast the deciding vote.”
“I vote ‘no’,” Earl stated to a round of angry voices from the room.
“The problem,” said Manfred in a louder voice, “is that you don’t have the courage of your convictions. You aren’t willing to be counted on either side. You don’t want to have to explain your choice to your opponents. What you’re missing is that both sides are going to be going after you for being so wishy-washy, for not taking a stand!”
“The problem,” Earl replied in the same tone, “is not that I don’t have the courage of my convictions, it’s that I don’t have the courage of yours. I do not support either plan.”
“But surely you can decide that one plan is better than the either. Show some courage! Make a choice!” Gerald was sounding a bit desperate.
“This controversy has been tearing our church apart for months now. How much money should we spend on facilities for the youth? How much on caring for the elderly? How much on outreach? It has been hard to pray or meditate anywhere in the church, because someone is always advocating for some part of one plan or the other.
“You say that I don’t have the courage of my convictions. I’m standing for my convictions right now. I have tried to say these things before, but I have been ignored. The assumption has always been that we’d either go with a more traditional view of ministry in our church, or with a more modern, forward-looking ministry.
“But I’m wondering what God wants. I’m wondering what mission we’re pursuing with either of these plans. Both plans maintain the grounds and the building. Both plans take care of social needs, proportioned for different groups of people, but still largely social.
“I have tried to say this gently. I came here assuming I wouldn’t get the opportunity, but God has provided me the opportunity with this deadlock.
“I don’t see God in either plan. I have heard prayers, all asking God to bless what we planned. What I ave not seen was any effort to understand and plan for a mission for the church. These plans look inward. They focus differently, but they look inward.
“Even more importantly, each plan ignores the needs of the advocates of the other. You’re all looking to beat the other side and get your vision of the church implemented. You’ve said anyone who disagrees can just get with the program or leave.
“I would only vote for a plan if it was one that considered everyone’s needs, everyone’s desires, and then took these to the Lord to see what we should do to honor God. Then I would vote for a plan.
“You may think I should have said more earlier, but none of you were listening. I did say these things, but you just assumed I’d go along. And that’s how it would have worked out. But God gave me the gift of a tie vote. I consider it a miracle.
“Now you all have an opportunity to look at these factions in the body and decide to be one Body of Christ, serving God in this neighborhood. I’ll vote for such a plan. But it won’t matter. If you find such a plan you’ll hardly need to hold a meeting to decide. You can just hold a praise meeting thanking God for his gift of vision!”
“You’re just a faction of one! You’re trying to destroy the church!” Gerald shouted. He pounded his fist on the table since he didn’t have a gavel.
“I wonder if it might work,” said Ruth, one of the active servants in the congregation. She didn’t manage to get anything more out before chaos broke out, and nobody could hear.
As the committee meeting started to wind up, the chairman, Randall Cummings, a true elder in the church, turned to the young visitor and said, “Well, you haven’t commented very much. I take it you think these are good ideas or you would have told us.”
Virgil Moore had just turned 21, and was visiting his home church from college. He raised his eyebrows just a bit. But before he could start talking, the chairman continued.
“I’m glad you approve! People are complaining that we aren’t reaching the young people, so having you at this meeting is valuable, even if you didn’t have much to add.”
“Well,” said Virgil quickly, before the chairman could roll on. “I don’t think I’ve given you good reason to assume I approve.”
“You didn’t speak up about the critical proposals. In a meeting like this, silence means consent. You need to learn that before you leave college and enter the real world of business.”
“I wonder,” mused Virgil, “if you actually wanted my opinions. It didn’t appear so in the meeting.”
“I gave you every opportunity to speak up. If you had something to say, you should have said it.” His tone was growing sharper by the minute. He was a big fish in the small, local pond. He was used to people accepting what he said because of his reputation and authority.
“No, you didn’t.”
The short statement, spoken quietly but firmly, nonetheless exploded into the room. Pastor Jack (Brown, if anyone wanted his last name) looked mildly surprised, and for the first time in the meeting, almost awake. He was in his late fifties, but looked perhaps a dozen years older. He had said less than Virgil in the meeting.
Miss Joyce Summers
The Committee
Next to him was the youth pastor, known as Pastor Jerry, who hoped to be promoted out of that unimportant position to be a “real pastor.” He had validated a number of statements from the chair. It was well known that he hoped for favorable references from the worship chair and his colleagues, and he wasn’t all that subtle about it. Cummings simply accepted this affirmation as no less than his due.
Mrs. Jameson
Mrs. Sandra Jameson, who, unlike Miss Joyce, was known by “Mrs.” (never Ms.) and her last name, looked both shocked and outraged. Her picture at that moment could have been used as an illustration for definitions of those words. No caption would have been necessary. Maybe even no words!
Miss Joyce (last name Summers, but most had forgotten) was a fixture of the church and had been for decades. She took care of all the things that were rarely noticed, such as the altar vestments, and details of church cleaning and even some maintenance. Today, she’d come in for some serious criticism for having the wrong color of vestments one week in the past quarter, and had been admonished to be more careful. “Faithful in the small things,” Cummings had intoned in what he thought was an authoritative voice, but which was more condescending.
Then there was Mindy Andrews. Mindy was 15 years old, though she tended to look younger, and had been put on this committee because “we should give the youth a chance to learn.” She had attended this meeting, her second of the year, because Virgil would be there as a visitor. Her first committee had not gone well. This one had not gone well either. Her expression was one of interest. She had hoped Virgil would say something.
The silence in the room lasted about as long as it likely took you to read the descriptions.
Cummings Is Challenged
“I could whip your butt! Show some respect!” Cummings was trying to put on the “in charge” manner that had helped him dominate many business meetings, but the sense of outrage diminished the effect. In addition, Virgil Moore didn’t appear impressed.
“No, you couldn’t. And respect is a two-way street.” Virgil still spoke softly, but there was no uncertainty in his tone.
“Sir,” said Cummings. Nobody imagined he was addressing Virgil as sir.
Virgil just raised his eyebrows and looked Cummings straight in the eyes.
“You will address me as ‘sir’,” Cummings stated, raising his voice.
Virgil simply kept looking him right in the eyes.
“Well,” said Cummings after a moment, “I have no interest in hearing the opinions of a disrespectful, spoiled, entitled young pup.” He broke eye contact with Virgil and said, “I’ll entertain a motion to adjourn.”
“I move that we adjourn,” said Mrs. Jameson promptly.
“Do I hear a second?”
Pastor Jerry
“Second,” said Pastor Jerry.
“We have a second,” Cummings began, but he was interrupted, to everyone’s surprise, by Pastor Jack.
“No, you don’t,” he said.
“What do you mean?” asked Cummings.
“As you pointed out to me when I started bringing him here, Pastor Jerry is not actually a voting member of the committee. Neither am I.”
Pastor Jack Brown
“Oh,” said Cummings, taken aback. He hadn’t thought anyone would remember that. “Well, then, we need a second.” He remembered that he had told the pastor in no uncertain terms that pastoral staff did not have a voting position on church committees either, and decided quickly that if the pastor remembered that with regard to the youth pastor he doubtless remembered it for himself as well.
He looked at Miss Joyce. She looked back at him. He couldn’t be certain she knew what he wanted, but it would be very awkward to actually suggest it, and even worse if it turned out she didn’t want to do it. So he turned to Mindy.
She looked back at him with a steady and innocent expression.
“I need a second for Mrs. Jameson’s motion. You’re a voting member.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mindy.
“You say, ‘I second the motion,’” said Cummings.
“But I don’t second the motion, sir.”
“You have to.”
“No, she doesn’t,” said Pastor Jack. “She’s a voting member. She has to vote according to her conscience.” He turned to Mindy. “Do you want the meeting to adjourn?”
Mindy
“No, sir. I’d like to hear what Virgil has to say.”
Pastor Jack looked back at Cummings with an expression that said, “Well?” louder than his voice could have.
Cummings had to make a quick decision. If he kept trying to fight he’d look weak. The best thing to do was to bow graciously to the committee’s will. Well, bow at least.
He looked at Virgil. “Well, despite your disrespectful tone, it appears the committee wants to hear you. Like everyone else, I have to follow the rules. It’s something you should learn.”
Virgil was actually amused. He had long been aware of how Cummings and his network ran the church. Rules were there to keep everyone under control. He wasn’t surprised by the tactics. He was surprised that the pastor had torpedoed them. He had thought the important members had the pastor under control. He was even more surprised that Mindy Andrews had had the guts to stand up to the chairman.
Virgil Explains
“What decision of the committee today do you disagree with?” Cummings spoke again.
“The problem is identifying any actual decision the committee has made. You indicated when you invited me that you had a problem with reduced attendance by young people and that you’d like my thoughts. But I don’t see any decision taken that would address that issue. The small number of decisions made did not even require a vote of the committee.”
Cummings was about to speak. He looked angry. Pastor Jack interrupted. “I’d like to hear what you think about our problem with diminishing youth and young adult attendance and an aging congregation.”
“We do not have an aging congregation,” said Cummings, raising his voice.
“The facts are against you,” said Virgil.
“What facts?” asked Cummings.
“The ones in this report you provided to the committee.”
“Those are just statistics. There are lies, damned lies, and statistics,” said Cummings, smiling. He had won with that line so many times. Everyone laughed and dropped citing statistics because either they didn’t know how to answer him or they knew it would do no good. That made him confident.
“So let me ask you this. Is the church’s management software state of the art?”
“Of course it is! Only the best for God’s church!”
“Is the data properly maintained?” This was a booby trap. Cummings’ wife maintained the data and everyone knew she demanded perfection. She had been known to take her own attendance count and question the official count if it differed.
“You know it is,” growled Cummings.
“So we have a report produced by what I know is not only state of the art software, but is the best in the industry, based on data that has been maintained to the highest standards possible–you didn’t say it, but I’m going to add it, Mrs. Cummings is unparalleled in her data maintenance–and yet you’ll imply that the contents of the report are to be seen as less valuable than ‘damn lies’?”
“Data is easily manipulated,” said Cummings.
“So as I cite this data, you can point out in what way I’m manipulating the data in this report.” He paused a moment. “According to this report, your membership has dropped nearly 30% in the last four years.” As Cummings opened his mouth, Virgil raised his hand and plowed forward. “Your youth group had a regular attendance that averaged about 30 four years ago, but now that average is about 10. The average age of the congregation increased about two years for every year, and is now just short of eight years older than it was four years ago.”
“Did you figure out all of those numbers on the fly? I question your calculations.” Cummings was again using a well-worn way of shutting things down.
“Turn to page 3 of the report,” said Virgil, “and look at the chart starting 10 lines down the page. This lists the membership figures and the percentage of change for the period of the report.” Virgil noted that everyone was looking at their report. So did Cummings. Cummings wasn’t happy.
Virgil continued through the report, citing line by line the sources of the information he had cited. When he was done, nobody in the room had failed to see those numbers. The pastor knew them instinctively, but he’d never seen them outlined so clearly. It was the picture of a dying church. The positive note was that there were churches in town that were dying faster.
“Well, numbers don’t tell the whole story,” said Cummings. “Sometimes we’re called on to fight the culture for God. Other churches may be doing better, but they’re compromising with the world while we’re standing up for God and for Truth.” Everyone heard the capital ‘T’ on Truth.
“I visited with the head elder of the Community Church downtown and I also saw their numbers. They don’t have these problems. In fact, they’re growing rapidly. The church I attend at college is not growing that fast, but that’s because it has created three new church plants in the three years I have been there.”
Compromising on Truth
“I stand by what I said. Churches that refuse to compromise on Truth will suffer in numbers.”
“I’m a facts person,” said Virgil. “Please tell me which ‘Truth’ Community Church has compromised on.”
“How should I know? Those big city churches with their guitars and drums and light shows are always compromising with the culture.” Cummings spoke dismissively, as though stating the obvious.
“Could you support from scripture the idea that ‘guitars and drums and light shows’ compromise the gospel in any way, please?”
“I’m not going to get into a theological discussion with you. This is a worship meeting, not a theological debate.”
“But you’re concerned with diminishing church attendance. Do you think what we believe about God has no impact on that?”
Mindy Has Some Thoughts
Time for diversion, thought Cummings. “Mindy, Virgil here thinks I kept you from commenting during the meeting. I didn’t. You know that, don’t you?”
“Actually,” said Mindy.
Cummings cut her off. “See,” he said, looking at Virgil. “She doesn’t agree with you on how I manage the meeting.”
“Actually,” said Mindy again, “I do agree with Virgil. In fact, you just did it. You cut me off in the middle of a sentence, and then finish it up as though I agree with you.”
“I’m just helping you get your thoughts into words.” This time Cummings looked genuinely surprised and aggrieved.
“But you don’t know what my thoughts are!” Mindy exclaimed. It was noticeable. She was normally very quiet and polite. Everyone was surprised, even Virgil. Pastor Jerry was stunned.
“Mindy,” said Pastor Jack, “Tell us what you think is wrong with this church that we’re losing members, especially younger ones.”
“I like this church …”
Cummings cut her off. “See? You’re making stuff up. She likes the church!”
“Randall!” Pastor Jack raised his voice. It had been at least a decade since anyone had heard him do that.
Cummings was stunned into silent.
“I was saying,” Mindy continued, “that I like this church. I like this building. I like lots of people here. It’s getting hard to enjoy the services and the youth activities. There’s nothing substantial. I’ve been thinking of not coming here to church any more.”
“So you’re complaining, but you don’t have anything substantial behind your complaints?” Cummings had a “gotcha” expression on his face.
“No, sir, that’s not what I said. My complaint is that there is nothing substantial. Three years ago when I did confirmation classes with Pastor Jack, I got excited about Jesus and about the church. I thought there were things there that I could really believe, that I could make something out of, and live my life so that it would make a difference.”
She paused, looking back and forth between Cummings, Pastor Jack, and Pastor Jerry. It seemed she was making a decision.
“But since that time, it’s like someone let the air out of a balloon. Pastor Jerry does lots of fun things with the young people, but nothing important, ever.”
Laughing at Your Elders
“You shouldn’t criticize your youth pastor that way. You’re too young!” Cummings took on the look and tone of someone on such solid ground as to unassailable. “I’m going to talk to your father next time I see him and tell him he needs to teach you to respect your pastor.”
Mindy started laughing.
Virgil, Miss Summers, and Pastor Jack were looking at Mindy with some interest. Pastor Jerry and Cummings were looking stunned. Cummings was moving his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Why is she laughing?” Cummings asked, looking at Pastor Jack.
“Think about it,” he replied.
“I am thinking about it. It’s rude! It’s disrespectful! You should stop her!”
“I think expecting her not to laugh would be unreasonable.”
“I don’t see why!”
“You mean you aren’t aware that Mindy’s parents quit attending? That they haven’t been here for months, and that Mindy attends alone? She rides the bus to get to church. I don’t know how she persuaded her dad to allow it, but she does.”
Cummings was stunned again.
“And you wonder why the church is losing members,” said Virgil quietly, breaking the stunned silence.
“That’s not the only reason,” said Mindy. This time people turned to her attentively. “Pastor Jack, when was the last time you preached a sermon on salvation by grace through faith?”
“You don’t even know what that means,” said Cummings, in a voice just short of a yell.
“It means we’re saved by God’s grace, given through Jesus, and received by faith. We’re not saved by what we do. Not by works”
“You aren’t teaching the young people that! They’ll think they can go out and do anything! It’s good for a young person to feel a bit of the flames of hell. Keeps ’em straight!” exclaimed Cummings, looking at Pastor Jack.
What Pastor Jack Was Called to Do
“I did. It’s what I believe. And it’s the best way I know to keep them straight.”
“Then why did you quit preaching it?” asked Mindy.
Pastor Jack looked straight at Cummings. “I stopped because you told me to. You said my preaching was too soft. You said I needed to preach more about sins and hell.”
“But you aren’t doing that!” It was Mindy’s turn to exclaim. “Well, except once. You preached about what a sin it was that we treated homeless people so poorly in this city. I don’t recall anything since.”
Pastor Jack was still looking at Cummings. “You told me to stop that as well.”
“I wanted you to preach about homosexuality, premarital sex, disrespect for elders, and other things that are destroying our society.”
“You did. But you see, I don’t know how to preach about all those things without also preaching about Jesus. If I preach about sin, I also have to preach about forgiveness, redemption, and divine healing. But I didn’t. I started preaching empty sermons.”
There was complete silence. Nobody knew what to say.
“God help me, I gave in, and quit preaching the gospel, the one thing I was called to do. I did it to keep my pension. I’m too old to find another pulpit.”
There was another awkward silence.
Pastor Jerry Gets a Job Offer
Then years of business experience came to the rescue of Chairman Randall Cummings.
“Pastor Jerry,” he said, “I think it’s time we promote you to senior pastor and get rid of this has-been. We need a real pastor.”
“Amen,” said Mrs. Jameson.
But Pastor Jerry just sat there.
“Come on,” said Cummings looking at Pastor Jerry. “I’m a church trustee. I have the keys. The decision of the elders is just an afterthought. You’re as good as Senior Pastor right now.”
“I don’t think so,” said Pastor Jerry slowly. “I too was called to preach the gospel. And I gave it up to pursue a career. You’ll have to find someone else.”
Locking the Building
Cummings had regained his decisive edge. He looked at the clock. “I’m locking the building at 10 o’clock, and won’t be opening it again until after we’ve chosen a new pastor, at least an interim.”
He stalked out of the room, and Mrs. Jameson followed.
Those left in the room looked at one another. “What do we do now?” asked Pastor Jerry.
Questions for Thought and Discussion
Are you fired up about anything? About the gospel?
Are the two pastors up for a fight?
Are there others in the church who will back them up?
What should they do?
Some Books to Help You Get Your Church on Track
(Graphics created with Adobe Express with Generative AI and some stock imagery.)
“Of course,” said Pastor Bill Allen. “I’m planning a sermon about the wonderful ladies in my life this Sunday.” His smile was beatific, expressing his confidence in “having this one covered.” Maggie imagined he practiced that smile in the mirror.
“But …” Maggie started to respond.
Bill knew when to keep control of a conversation, and he figured this was such a time. “I’ll begin,” he interrupted, “with my sainted mother, who gave her life so that I could be in ministry. I wouldn’t be where I am without her.”
“But,” Maggie began again, and then plowed forward, using her experience as an Emergency Room physician in keeping control of the conversation in turn. “Your mother never worked a day outside of her home.”
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Pastor Bill. Maggie suspected the expression of shocked disappointment, about a four on a five point scale, was also the result of practice.
Maggie got up to leave. As she reached the door, she said, “I imagine that to you International Women’s day is a day for men to talk about the women in their lives.
She didn’t see the entirely genuine look of surprise, consideration, and then visceral rejection she left behind.
He wasn’t sure whether he was awake or not. He might have been dreaming. He might have been in that sort of half-way state some people experience when just waking up. But right across from his recliner, sitting there on the couch, was a man.
The man looked a little bit like his buddy Fred. Ordinary clothes, slouched a bit. Relaxed. His imagination kept trying to tell him this was Jesus, but he couldn’t figure out why.
“The problem,” said the man on the couch, “is that you are much too focused on the church.”
“I’m a pastor. I’m supposed to be focused on my church.”
“I don’t mean the people. I mean the building.”
“But the people need the building.”
“Do they?”
There was a long pause.
“Take this new education wing,” said the man on the couch.
“That’s the problem. I can’t ‘take’ it because I can’t get it built!”
“Yes. You’ve been praying about that. You’ve been asking God to help you get the money to start building it. But are you sure you need it?”
“I have new Sunday School classes cropping up. We can actually overbook our rooms just with committee meetings. The church is growing! We need room!” He didn’t know why he was arguing with the man on his couch. He just couldn’t stop.
“There are other times, whole days, when the church is entirely empty.”
“Well, we have to meet people’s schedules.”
“People have homes.”
“You mean we should hold committee meetings in people’s homes?”
“I suppose that would work. You might try less committee meetings. For example, think of the last meeting of the trustees.”
“I’d rather not.” He sighed. The trustees’ meeting had lasted nearly three hours and then they’d agreed to restudy everything and meet again.
“Yeah. It was a waste of time, wasn’t it?”
“I just don’t know how to make it work.”
“That’s true. That’s why you’re such a wonderful pastor. One of the reasons, at least.”
“I don’t feel very wonderful.”
“No. You can’t get things moving. Did you know that you have one of the most active congregations in the city?”
“No. I never checked.”
“Another reason I like you.”
“But I can’t get this new building program off the ground. It’s like we grew to fill the space, and then we can’t get over the next hill.”
“Maybe the next hill is over there.” The man on the couch was pointing out the window.
“Over where?” He looked out the window. The city was out there.
“How many members do you have who have homes large enough to hold a Sunday School class?”
“I don’t know. I’d guess a hundred or more.” He wondered about the non-sequitur. The number of people with large enough houses wouldn’t be a where.
“There.”
“Where?”
“There. Those homes.”
“But they’re all over the city! We have members coming from everywhere!”
“Just so! What an opportunity!”
“Opportunity?”
“They could invite their neighbors. ALL. OVER. THE. CITY!”
He stared blankly at the man on the couch. “I don’t think they’d do it.”
“When you needed to buy instruments for your praise band, what did you do?”
“I prayed. I taught a series on worship.”
“And when you needed people to be more welcoming to those who came onto the church property, what did you do?”
“I prayed. I taught a series about hospitality in the church. Then I twisted some arms.”
“And it worked. You have the fastest growing church of any denomination (or not) in your city. Now maybe you need to teach about hospitality in the home.”
He looked at the man on the couch. “People meeting in their own homes on Sunday morning? But they couldn’t get to church!”
“Ah. They wouldn’t get to hear your sermon.”
“You sound sarcastic. I put a great deal of work into my sermons.”
“You do. It’s commendable. But what would happen if you taught a bunch of those lay people—a hundred or more, I think you said—to offer a message from God’s Word themselves? Do you think you could teach someone else to do some teaching?”
“We could use technology. Pipe the sermon in over the internet.”
“You could. Or you could equip all those people to share God’s Word. Or some of each. You could even do some of the equipping over the internet!”
“I could.”
“Be careful what you pray for.”
“I was praying for a new education wing.”
“Now you’re going to pray for a hundred or more education centers.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know you. Once you’ve got the vision, you just can’t stop yourself, even though you try.”
He looked around again. There was no man on the couch. He wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep. The idea of merely raising funds for an education wing now looked easy. And he wasn’t going to do that. He could just imagine the trustees’ reaction when he said that people were going to be meeting for church in their homes. Insurance? Budgets? Maintenance? Liability? More than a hundred centers of witness.
Fun, he thought. He liked trying to do something real!
“So how have you enjoyed our church?” asked Pastor Fred. He was the evangelism pastor for First Community Church, and he was out following up with recent visitors.
“It was interesting,” said Ed noncommittally. Ed had taken his family to First Community Church two out of the last four weeks, and had said that any Saturday afternoon would do for a visit when he filled out the visitor form.
“We were delighted that you chose to come back and visit us a second time,” said Fred.
“I like to get acquainted when I’m considering any major purchase, whether it’s a new car, a club, or in this case a church.”
There was an pause as Fred tried to absorb this. He knew people shopped for churches. He just wasn’t used to having anyone put it quite that bluntly. Just as the pause was becoming awkward, the doorbell rang. Ed got up and soon returned with Pastor George, the associate minister at First Fellowship Church. Fred and George were friendly rivals. Both churches were large and growing. This was the first time they’d ended up visiting a prospective member at the same time.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” said George. “I can come back another time when you’re not occupied.”
“I don’t see why I can’t talk to both of you at once.” Ed looked puzzled that anyone could see a problem with this. “I’ve visited each of your churches twice. I didn’t plan to get you here at the same time, though I suppose it was always possible considering I put Saturday afternoon as the best time to visit.”
Fred and George looked at one another and then shrugged. “I guess it’s OK,” said Fred with a slightly forced smile. In fact, he was thinking that he would have to watch some of the things he usually said about First Fellowship. George might take exception!
“Where’s the rest of your family?” asked George.
“It’s hard to get this family in one place. My son’s at a school fundraising project, and my wife and daughter are at swimming class. Don’t worry, they’ll have their input. I’ll tell them what you had to say.”
Fred saw his opening. “One of the reasons I felt that your family would fit well at First Community is his community involvement. His Sunday School teacher mentioned to me that he knew many of our young people from various activities.”
“Yes,” said Ed, “he did mention how many of the young people he knew. My wife and I knew many people in our class as well. We would certainly see plenty of people we already know if we join First Community.”
“We like to encourage networking through the church. Many of our people make the church the center of their social and business life. We like to think we’re a church for all your family’s needs.”
George thought he saw an opening. It was his chief objection to his friendly rival’s church. What about spiritual needs? In fact, since both churches claimed to be Christian, what about Christ? He was about to open his mouth to say this, despite how confrontational it sounded, when Ed spoke again.
“But what about our spiritual needs? Our Sunday School class discussed building a house for Habitat. That’s a good thing, but I’m already involved. My son’s class talked about toleration and how to get along with others at school and at work. Your senior pastor’s sermon had to do with facing life’s problems, but I heard something like it at a sales motivational meeting I attended recently.”
George was feeling pretty good. It was what he wanted to say, but much more direct and complete with details.
“We definitely believe in Jesus as our Savior at First Community,” said Fred, “but we think it’s important to be active in living out God’s kingdom in the world. We’re about action and the way that real people live their lives. We try to have messages that will help you make it through the next week.”
George couldn’t leave this alone. “At First Fellowship,” he said passionately, “We are interested in messages that will help you live for eternity. We think that if you make Jesus Christ first in your life, these other things will come along quite well.”
“But they don’t happen by themselves,” said Fred. “You have to be active. Just saying that Jesus died for our sins over and over every week doesn’t tell people how they’re going to deal with being laid off, finding a new job, raising their kids, or helping their neighbors.” He knew he should keep calm and be gracious, but he felt that he was under attack, and quite unfair attack.
“Actually I’m quite satisfied that both your churches are very involved in the community. I did my research before I took my family to visit. I know you’re both involved in missions. You both do local service projects. Members of both churches are very much involved in the community.” He paused a moment.
“But what good is all of this if we don’t preach Christ?” George regretted this as soon as he had said it. He’d say something like this to Fred over lunch, where he’d joke about Christianity Lite, but this was not a debate to have with a prospective member, especially one who didn’t seem to have any solid theological commitment.
“That’s my question about your church,” said Ed, looking at George. There was stunned silence. Nobody questioned that Christ was preached at First Fellowship. They might complain about a certain doctrinal narrowness, and perhaps even a bit of evangelistic shrillness, but they wouldn’t say Christ wasn’t preached.
“I don’t understand,” said George.
“Well, the first time we visited was just before the ruling on the Affordable Care Act was announced. Our Sunday School class was supposed to be studying Romans 6, but instead we discussed the health care bill.” Fred was happy to note that Ed called it the Affordable Care Act. George was worried that he hadn’t called it Obamacare. “We didn’t really get around to discussing Romans 6 at all.”
“The second time we visited,” he continued, “we were supposed to be on Romans 8. I can only imagine they just continued moving through the book even though we hadn’t discussed it. But now the Supreme Court had ruled, and we discussed the ruling. I had done my reading and I wanted someone to explain how Romans 8 related to Romans 7. Instead I got a critique of Justice Roberts’ logic in the decision. I didn’t say anything, because I gathered that someone who thought the ACA was a good idea wouldn’t really be welcome.
“In the youth class they talked about homosexuality and how wrong it was. It was not done too badly. They spoke out against bullying and told the youth to treat their gay friends well, pray for them, and hope to save them. I’m not sure what was up in my daughter’s class. They did an art project relating to the name ‘Jesus’, but she couldn’t tell me what she had learned.
“Then there was the sermon, which was supposed to be from John 15, but quickly go derailed onto politics. I quit counting the number of times the pastor said he wasn’t telling us who to vote for, but he clearly didn’t mean it, because we could definitely tell we were not to vote for President Obama’s re-election.”
“I’ve frequently pointed out that First Fellowship tends to be politically narrow,” said Fred. “If you don’t accept the politics of the church you won’t be welcome, even if you agree with the theology.”
George wanted to be angry, but he realized it was no more pointed than what he had said about First Community.
But Ed wasn’t nearly as kind, apparently. “I wouldn’t put it that way,” he said. “Even though we didn’t discuss the ACA in class, someone brought it up in the hall and when I mentioned a question I had about the constitutionality of the individual mandate, several people turned away and didn’t want to talk to me any more. At my work place we debate this kind of thing all the time and we stay friends. Couldn’t we do the same thing at church?”
“We really should,” said Fred. “But people are people.”
“But why are they more tense at church then they are in the workplace?” asked Ed.
“I don’t know,” said George. “But you do have a point.”
“My problem,” said Ed, “is that I’d like a place where my children could learn about what Christianity is about without either having it rammed down their throats or having it ignored. I’d like a Sunday School class where I could find out just what Paul was up to moving from Romans 6 to 7 to 8. It doesn’t quite make sense, and I’d like to figure it out. Romans 8 sounds exciting!
“I’d like to find a church that was involved in the community, but that didn’t expect my whole life to center around what the church was doing. My whole family gets involved in community service. The church doesn’t have to own everything. I’d like to be able to talk about ethics and spiritual things and how they would impact my vote without having people condemn me if I end up voting differently than they do.
“Can either of you recommend a church to me that will meet those needs?”
“You need to be more specific. What should be happening that isn’t?”
He could see a look of impatience pass briefly over the young man’s face. The young man clearly thought it was all very obvious.
“Well, church attendance is down since I took over the church. Membership is down. We haven’t had any professions of faith. We’ve had a few people transfer in, but not enough. We can’t meet our budget obligations. It just isn’t working.”
“So ‘it’ is a church with good statistics—membership, budget, church attendance.”
“Exactly! With all your experience as a pastor, I kind of expected . . .” His voice kind of faded. He had probably intended to finish with “you to know that.” But he didn’t.
“Numbers aren’t everything, you know,” said the old man.
“True, but there isn’t much that I can accomplish with a church that’s shrinking and that can’t pay the bills.”
“I didn’t say numbers weren’t important, just that they aren’t the only thing.”
There was another long pause.
“I’m wondering,” the old man resumed, ” what you preached about last Sunday.”
“I preached about the importance of being in church, not neglecting gathering together. It seemed to be what was needed.”
“And what reasons did you give them to go to church?”
“Well, besides that the Bible tells us to do so?”
“Yes, besides that.”
“I told them that it’s essential to our spiritual growth, to overcoming sin, and to becoming true disciples. We need encouragement from one another.”
“Did you mention farming?”
“No.”
“Truck driving?”
“No.”
“Teaching biology?”
“No. What do those things have to do with it?”
“Perhaps nothing at all. How long have you known you were called to be a pastor.”
The seeming non sequitur caught the young man off-guard. “Umm,” he said, “I think I knew when I was about 10 years old. I never told anyone till I was about 12.”
“And what did you take in college?”
“I took a degree in Bible. Many people questioned that decision, but I didn’t want to waste my time on things that weren’t relevant.”
“So you went to a Christian high school, then Bible college, then seminary, and from there to the pulpit, is that correct?”
“Yes.” He looked puzzled. This wasn’t how he expected this conversation to go. The old man had pastored many churches successfully. His reputation was that if you sent him to a large church it would get larger and more active. If you sent him to a small church it would become large. If you sent him somewhere where there was no church at all, there soon would be one. The man must have some secrets to pass on. The young man wanted those secrets.
“And how did you pay for school?”
“I was very blessed with that. I won scholarships that covered most of it. I have very little debt.”
“But you never really worked while you were in school, in a job, I mean.”
“Well, I was a teaching assistant.”
“To a religion professor?”
“Biblical studies. I learned a lot in that job.”
“Oh, no doubt. But how many biblical studies professors do you have in your congregation?”
The young man looked stunned again. “Well, none, of course.” The old man should know that much.
“How many truck drivers do you have?”
“I don’t know. Several, I’d think. There’s the factory and all.”
“How many farmers?”
“Well, again I don’t know exactly. Quite a few.”
“Teachers?”
“Again, we have a few.”
“What do you know about those things?”
“You mean the demographics of my congregation? I have a detailed report on my desk. I just don’t remember numbers well.”
“I don’t mean demographics. I mean what do you know about truck driving, farming, and teaching. Not Bible teaching, but regular secular teaching.”
“Well, I guess not much.” He’d thought of saying he knew something about those various topics, but he was afraid the old man would ask him what he knew, and he actually didn’t know anything about those jobs.
“Precisely,” said the old man, as though he had made a major discovery. “You never had the benefit of a secular education.”
“I see,” said the young man. And he didn’t like it, but he thought he did get it. “You mean I need to understand these people’s jobs so that I can find the hooks to draw them into spiritual things!”
It was the old man’s turn to be stunned. “No! No! No!”
“I don’t understand.”
“You need to know about their jobs and their lives so that you can help make those things sacred.”
The young man looked confused. “Make them sacred?”
“Where do you think the congregation impacts the world? In the church?”
“No, I suppose they do it at work. But I thought they should learn about spiritual things and then share those things at work. It’s my job to teach them spiritual things.”
“True, but only partially so. It’s your job to equip them to do ministry. You can’t equip them to do ministry if you don’t understand where it is that they’re going to do ministry. They do it at the office, in the cab of a truck, on a tractor, at the market, and in many other places.”
“I’ve tried to get more of them involved in the church . . .”
The old man interrupted him, “And that’s where you make your mistake.”
“But they need to be involved in the church!”
“Yes, but it’s even more important for the church, and I don’t mean your building or your committees or your programs, but the Church, the people, to get involved in the world.”
The young man looked at the old one for a couple of minutes. It was the first time of silence he wasn’t in a hurry to interrupt. He knew that. But he certainly hadn’t put it into practice.
“So what do I do now. I can hardly go back and change the way I was educated.”
“Perhaps so, but think about this. There are many ways to get a secular education. One is simply by paying attention to what people are doing. Now that you have the idea, I think you’ll think of ways to do it. And you may find it’s not all that secular after all . . .”
“Our church is shrinking,” said the head elder, “and it’s your fault.”
Zeb didn’t respond immediately. He’d been summoned to the church board meeting, though when he’d used the word “summoned” the head elder had objected. “We just want to talk to you,” he had said. But it felt like a summons, and this felt like a trial, only less organized.
“Well,” said the head elder after the silence had grown uncomfortable. “Do you have anything to say?”
“I’m not sure what makes you believe it’s my fault the church is shrinking.”
“It seems obvious to me. We hired you to make this church grow, and now a year has passed, and we’ve lost more members this year than ever before, and of those that have joined the church not one—not one!—has stayed.”
“But this church has been shrinking for more than a decade, and shrinking faster each year. How does it become my fault?” Zeb looked truly puzzled.
“A year ago we took a big risk,” said another man, a businessman who also acted as church business manager. “We decided that we could afford to hire a pastor of outreach to stop the bleeding. But spending all that money on your salary has proven a bad investment.”
“Yes,” said another, “and you missed our last planning meeting as well.”
“I did send an e-mail to let you and the pastor know I wouldn’t be available.”
“Yes, an e-mail! I didn’t get it until after the meeting. But that meeting was important! Even critical! You had known about it for weeks. You shouldn’t have missed it.”
Zeb really couldn’t argue here. He’d chosen to drive a homeless man to the shelter. He’d sent an e-mail because he knew they wouldn’t get it in time and so they wouldn’t be able to order him to attend the meeting. He really could have gotten someone else to drive the man to the shelter. But he just couldn’t face that meeting.
“So you see,” said another, “we gambled on you and it looks like we lost.”
“I see,” said Zeb. Then he paused for more than a minute. People started shifting in their seats in discomfort as the time extended, but it did look like Zeb was gathering his thoughts.
“I’m afraid I’ve been operating under false pretenses,” he said finally. “The only excuse I can give is that I didn’t know it. But I should have. I should have known what you were doing.”
“What do you mean ‘what we were doing?’” asked the head elder. “We’re talking about you.”
“I’m wondering if you have the letter you sent describing this job.”
“I can’t say that I have a copy,” said the head elder. “Why?”
“Well, I can’t recall anything in there that said I was supposed to make this church grow. If I had seen anything like that, I wouldn’t have applied for the job. If I’d suspected anything like that was in your mind, I would have never taken it when it was offered.”
“But we hired you as outreach pastor!” The head elder was somewhere between shock and anger.
“And if you expect an outreach pastor to ‘grow your church,’ then you’re badly mistaken. I can’t grow your church and neither can any other person you might hire.”
“Don’t pretend that everyone is as incompetent as you are,” said the businessman.
“Incompetent? I suppose I deserve that. I should have realized just what you were up to long ago and done something about it. But I was so happy to be doing outreach and getting paid for it, I didn’t realize.”
“You keep saying things like, ‘what we’re up to,’” said the head elder. We’re not “up to” anything, except that we expect you to do your job.
“But you didn’t include ‘make our church grow’ in your job description.”
“I’d think it was obvious.”
“Oh, but it isn’t. In fact, it’s obviously wrong!” There was a gasp in the room. One didn’t tell the head elder he was wrong in that direct a way.
“So what do you think your job is?” asked the head elder after he’d recovered enough. He was sure they were going to fire this guy before the meeting was over.
“Well, the description you provided in your letter said things like ‘building the kingdom of God in this community’ and ‘reaching the lost for Christ,’ not to mention ‘leading the congregation in showing Christ’s love.’ I have tried to do those things with God’s help.”
“But if you had been doing all that, our church would have grown!” said the businessman. “As it is, few enough people visit, even less come back a second time, and the two families who did join left the church in a few weeks. So somewhere in there you’re not doing your job.”
Zeb tried hard to stay calm, but with that last line something broke in him. He had always wondered if there was such a thing as righteous anger, and he was in enough control to wonder if his anger right then was righteous or not.
“I think I can explain that,” he said in clipped tones.
“I’d really like to hear it, said the businessman before Zeb could continue.
“I really doubt you do,” said Zeb, and continued before he could be interrupted. “I remember each and every person I’ve brought to this house. One man came to church in jeans and a t-shirt. One of you told him he wasn’t dressed appropriately, and should make sure to wear appropriate clothing next time he was in church ‘out of respect for God,’ was the phrase, I believe.
“He didn’t own any better clothing, so he just never came back. Fortunately, I found him another church that was willing to let him attend in whatever clothing he had. Well, actually, the members got together and found him a new wardrobe. He has a job now as well.”
“But you’re supposed to be bringing people here!’ exclaimed the businessman, “You’re not hired to grow other churches.”
“I did bring him here, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’d even talked to some members and started to collect clothes for him. But you ran him off before I could finish.”
The businessman was red in the face and opened his mouth to respond, but Zeb just rolled right over him.
“Then there were the Jeffries. Their family actually joined the church, but one of you caught Mr Jeffries having a beer and told him he was misrepresenting Christ and the church by drinking. He decided he’d rather be somewhere else. But you see, nobody had told Mr. Jeffries that people at this church don’t drink beer.”
“You should have taken care of that,” said the head elder, just short of shouting.
“True, but you see, I can’t find anything in the stated beliefs and practices of this church that says one can’t have a beer. It’s just sort of something you do. Or don’t do.”
“So,” said the businessman, “you’re saying we’re running people off.” He was a practical man.
“Yes,” said Zeb, “you’re running people off.”
“I think you’re bringing in the wrong people,” said the head elder.
There was silence. Nobody wanted to put it that explicitly. The head elder had spoken without really thinking. It was something you did, but not something you named.
“I think,” said Zeb, “that the only honest thing for me to do is give you my resignation. The job you hired me to do can’t be done by someone hired. It has to be done by the whole church. And as it is, I wouldn’t want to do it. I don’t believe there are any wrong people. That you think there are”—he looked straight at the head elder—”is something I believe you should make a matter of serious prayer and seeking.”
With that, Zeb stood up and left the room. He tried to do it courteously, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded. He just knew he couldn’t waste time this way for another minute.
“Well,” said the head elder after Zeb had left, “what should we do?”
“So why did you want to see me, Charlie,” said the elderly man after the preliminary social amenities were completed. “It’s been what, 25 years?” His tone was friendly, but his face showed disappointment.
“I wanted you to see what we have happening here. Thirty-five years ago I received my call to ministry in your church when you were preaching. The church helped me get to seminary. Now look at this monument to the gospel. That’s part of your legacy.”
The elderly man sat quietly for a minute. Charlie said it with pride, but it was a pride that was assumed, sort of like a role. He was supposed to be proud of his accomplishments because he was supposed to be. But behind it there was something else. Concern? No, fear was more like it.
“So you called me again after 25 years of silence because you wanted me to see this campus?” It was a beautiful campus, several acres, more than $20 million in budget every year, a lighted cross that could be seen for miles around, thousands of worshipers.
“Well, that was part of it.”
“A very small part, I suspect. You can’t call me at 11 PM, sounding panicked, and tell me that you need to see me as soon as possible, and then expect me to believe you wanted to show me the campus.”
Charlie looked at him for a moment, then chuckled. “I never could deceive you, could I? I still can’t. Look at this.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers and slid them across the desk.
The elderly man looked at them. They were worn and dog-eared, but he could see the date on the front page and it was only two weeks ago. Somebody had been spending a lot of time with these papers. The title read “Survey of Attitudes and Values” followed by the name of the church.
“Why don’t you sum it up for me. I was never all that good with figures,” he said.
“Well, it’s not good news. It tells me that my church members are pretty much like the neighborhood. They’re concerned about the same things, they have the same values, the same divorce rates, the same views on major moral issues. People who worship here are as likely to support abortion as those who don’t, for example.” He paused. “Actually, they’re a bit more likely. They give a bit less, they serve a bit less, they’re as likely to be divorced. It goes on and on. There’s no good news.”
“And this surprises you?”
There was a minute or so of silence.
“You think it shouldn’t?” asked Charlie.
“I think there is always a reason.”
“I’m guessing there would be a different result at the old home church, not that there are enough members to do a proper survey.”
“I don’t know what a survey would show. I never had one taken. I doubt we could afford it.”
“Well, it’s a small church. Here we need to have a way to measure our success.”
“But your problem is that it’s not success that you’re measuring. Do you have any problems with your church budget?”
“Other than the normal, no.”
“You have all the buildings you need?”
“Well, we have some new projects going.”
“Your church is growing?”
“Certainly.”
“So why did you have the survey taken?”
“I wanted to know what impact we’re having on people.”
“You’re their pastor. Can’t you tell?”
“There are thousands of people here. I can’t possibly know them all.”
“And you thought this,” he picked up the survey, “would help you find out?”
“Yes. I was wondering if we needed some new classes, or perhaps counseling programs. Things to help people find their values and live up to them.”
“Did you really think those things were going to work?”
“I don’t know. I was concerned before the survey was taken. Since I read it, I’m feeling even worse.” He paused.
“What is it that you feel?” prompted the elderly man.
“I feel like this is a shell. Like God isn’t here.”
“Good.”
“Good?” Charlie looked puzzled.
“You are still able to listen to the Holy Spirit.”
“But this is discouragement! Surely it’s the work of the enemy!”
“It would be discouragement if it wasn’t true. If it’s true, it’s conviction.”
“So do you have any suggestions? Anything I can do? I’ve been thinking about new classes about the basics of Christianity.”
“No, I don’t think that is what you need.”
“Then what? You were my mentor. You’re the only one I can turn to. The only one who doesn’t expect me to have everything together.”
“No, that’s not true. There is One other. And I think he has some advice for you. You may not like it.”
So be zealous, and repent! – Revelation 3:19b
Unless YHWH builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. – Psalm 127:1
He was dressed in ragged clothing, more patches than original cloth. His face was covered with the stubble of several days without shaving. He looked like he should be cold but he wasn’t shivering. In fact, he looked peaceful.
Tom saw the tramp out of the corner of his eye. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, then turned to cross the parking lot and avoid the man.
“How did the meeting go?” asked a voice.
Tom turned. It was the tramp.
“Fine. How did you know I was in a meeting?”
“You came from the office. The lights have been on in one room for some time. It’s after office hours. You were in a meeting.” He said it evenly, calmly.
“Oh.”
“Did you get the organ?”
“Yes, I did.”
It wasn’t easy, was it?”
Tom looked at the tramp for a moment, he wasn’t wondering how the tramp knew what the meeting was about. Instead, he wondered why he didn’t wonder. “No,” he said. “It wasn’t easy.”
“Patty wanted the money for more materials for the children’s department. She made a strong case.”
“Yes, she did.”
“But she didn’t get the money.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Alexander wanted you to buy an electronic keyboard rather than the pipe organ. It would have cost less and it could have been used by both the contemporary praise band and the traditional service.”
“True, but there’s nothing like singing the good old hymns to the accompaniment of a pipe organ. It was worth it.”
“The evangelism pastor wanted the money for outreach, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but he didn’t really need those materials. Individual contact will work well enough. You don’t need materials to introduce someone to Jesus.”
“Well, he didn’t get them either. Nellie wanted the money to give to the homeless shelter. But she didn’t get it.”
“Quite true. The organ was very important to me.”
“I wonder how that happened?” asked the tramp.
“I guess they all understood just how important good music is to this congregation.”
“But your reputation didn’t hurt.”
“I’ve served this church longer than any of those folks have been alive!”
“That’s very important to you, isn’t it?”
“Well, it should be! Christianity is all about service. Some of these young people don’t want to do any of the work around the church at all!”
“Yes, I have.” Tom looked at the tramp with pride. He truly had done all those things.
“And you’ve made sure everyone knows, haven’t you?”
Tom paused, surprised. “I never talk about my service. If others notice, that’s their affair.”
“But you make sure they see you, don’t you?”
“I don’t do that!”
“Yet when you saw me you looked around before you headed for the other side of the parking lot. You didn’t want to be seen avoiding me. But when you were sure nobody would see, you turned away from me.”
Tom stopped and just looked. He really had done that. How had the tramp known?
“Well,” continued the tramp, “I hope the organ music truly blesses someone.”
Tom turned to away. It wasn’t fair. He was a servant. Had been for years. The organ was important. It was a good thing!
He turned back to argue, but the tramp was gone. Tom was surprised. He would never have expected someone in the tramp’s condition could move that fast.
Whenever you did something for one of the least of my brothers or sisters, you did it for me. — Matthew 25:40
But as for you, when you do your charitable acts, don’t let yourleft hand know what your right hand is doing. — Matthew 6:3
Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the son of man doesn’t have anywhere to lay his head.” — Matthew 8:20
[This is a work of fiction, and is part of my God-Talk club series. For more information follow the link. Also, I promised in my last God-Talk Club story that the club would discuss prophecy some more. This isn’t that post. I’ll get to it–soon, I hope. In another departure, this post was inspired by this one by John Meunier, rather than merely from my overactive imagination. This is also known as being “inspired by” a true story, in the Hollywood sense.]
“I have a question for you god-people,” said Bob. He had been tense ever since they started gathering, as though he had something important to say or ask.
“OK, spill it,” said Mandy.
“I just really don’t understand how you religious types live with it,” Bob continued.
“Live with what?” asked Mandy.
“Well,” said Bob, “Last night I was watching TV and this televangelist came on. I don’t know why, but I started watching this guy for awhile. He made a call for people who wanted prayer, and then he launched into his fundraising. He told his audience that if they gave God money, God would reward them 10-fold or even 100-fold. He even did the math for them. If they gave $1,000 to his ministry–I don’t recall when, but he switched from ‘give to God’ to ‘give to me’ somewhere in there–they’d get $10,000 or even $100,000 back. He even had a story of a retired lady on a fixed income–that’s how he said it–who sent her last $1,000 to him, and then received back $10,000 from an insurance settlement she hadn’t expected.”
“Wow!” said Mandy.
“What a charlatan!” Jerry added.
“Just can’t trust those preachers,” said Mac, winking in turn at Mark, Justine, and Jerry.
“What I’m wondering,” Bob continued, ignoring all the byplay, “is what happens if some old lady–elderly, that is–sends him her last $1,000, and then nothing happens. You all know that’s much more likely than that she’ll get a $10,000 insurance settlement.”
“What I’d like to know is why it’s an old lady. Why not an old gentleman? You’re not a male chauvinist pig, are you Bob?” Justine was just a bit annoyed!
“What does that matter? It’s the fraud I’m talking about!”
“What if the preacher means it?” asked Mandy. “I mean, what if he honestly believes that everyone who sends him money will get back multiples?”
“Then he’s insane!” said Jerry, raising his voice almost to a shout.
“I’m not defending him, Jerry. But don’t you or I have beliefs that someone else might regard as insane?”
“Like what?”
“Well, for example, I think we both believe that some guy was crucified back in Roman times, and his body came back to life, right?”
“And you’re comparing that to claim God will multiply money someone sends to a charlatan preacher?”
“Well–” Justine paused a moment. “Well, other than the charlatan part, isn’t multiplying the money less of a miracle than resurrection? It’s not impossible, is it, by miracle standards, that is?”
“No,” said Jerry slowly. “It’s not impossible. But that’s not the point. God never actually promised to multiply our money.”
“Yes he did,” said Justine, but both Jerry and Mandy ignored her. [Though it’s not discussed in this story, Justine is thinking of Matthew 19:29.]
“That’s really not the issue,” Mandy continued, “Is it? The question is whether the guy who claims it will happen has to be insane.”
“The problem there,” cut in Mark, who was sitting on the edge of his seat, “Is that this guy surely has to know that people are getting screwed all the time, that they aren’t all getting 10 or 100 times their money back.”
“But I think that’s not quite the point either. We all ignore many, many things that we ought to know. If we were guilty of fraud because of what we ought to know but don’t, we’d all be in serious difficulties!”
“On the other hand,” said Jerry, “This man is a preacher, claiming to be a minister of the gospel. He should know. If I were a financial advisor and advised my clients to send me money because it would be multiplied, even if I stupid enough to really think that my investment would produce that much, I’d be charged with fraud, because as financial advisor, I should know.”
“That’s a good point,” said Mandy. “I’d really like to be able to get a guy like that for fraud. He makes me sick. But you also have freedom of religion. I believe that God wants me to put my tithe in the offering plate at church. I believe that God will save my soul and take me to heaven. I’m not really supposed to see it as a quid pro quo, but am I not basing giving thousands of dollars a year to my church on something that is totally unproven?”
Mark jumped in again. “But you don’t have proof that it doesn’t work, do you? This preacher has evidence available to him that you won’t get the multiples of your money.”
“No, not true,” said Justine. “There is good evidence that most people won’t get the money, but unless he’s lying about his one elderly donor, then somebody did get the multiple. Of course, all things considered, he might be lying about that.”
“But there is no proof, or even evidence, that there is a connection between the two events!” Bob was emphatic.
“But that’s again different from the evidence against everyone getting something. We know that not everyone gets the money. We don’t know that anyone will, but we don’t know for sure they won’t or even that they didn’t already.”
“So you’re willing to give this guy more credit than the others do.” Bob Norman looked straight at Justine. “I thought you might. I’ve looked into your church, and you’re much more ‘miracle’ based than these other folks.”
“On the contrary, I think the man is a huckster, and it would be fine with me if he was hauled off to jail.”
“But you believe God can multiply.”
“Can, Bob, can. Can, not will. There’s a big difference. I never teach anyone to believe that God will function like a slot machine. There’s a blessing, but it’s often not in this life. If you don’t like giving money that will probably not come back, then don’t give–at my church, or I suspect at Mandy’s or Jerry’s.”
“Precisely,” said Jerry. Mandy nodded.
“Doesn’t this embarrass you?” Bob looked straight at Jerry, the respectable businessman of the group.
“Yes it does. It makes me wish I could disappear into a hole in the ground. But at the same time, I know that man’s faith is not my faith. He’s a fraud, but that doesn’t make me a fraud.” He paused a moment. “Or even Justine, though I think she plays awfully close to the fire!”
Mac mimed holding a revolver and blowing smoke from the barrel. “Close one, Justine, no?”
“Jerry’s a true believer,” said Justine. “He tries to avoid it, but deep down he really believes.”
Jerry had his mouth open, but Bob got in ahead of him. “I still really don’t see it. Wouldn’t the safest thing be not to accept things that are not properly supported by objective evidence? It seems a bit like gambling to me, only with much less likelihood of reward.”
“Well, it might seem like gambling to you, but to me, it’s just part of my relationship with God.” Justine spoke in pretty definite tones.
“If I was into my religion for the money, I’d get out,” said Mandy.
“Amen!” said Jerry. “I’m here for the spiritual benefit.”
“I don’t get this ‘spiritual’ stuff. How is it measured? How do you know it’s true?”
“It’s not measurable,” said Mandy. “It’s faith.”
“And that’s where it’s bogus,” said Mac. “Bob’s being nice to you guys, but I want to ask you, Mandy first: Do you think I’m a worse person than you are?”
“No, absolutely not,” said Mandy.
“So what’s the benefit of all this ‘spirituality’?”
“I think a better question would be whether I’d be a worse person without it. I think I would. Be worse, that is.”
“Do you think I’d be better if I was spiritual like you?”
“I think you could do with cutting off some rough edges, since we’re being direct, but I don’t prescribe spirituality for others. It’s a personal thing.”
“I bet Jerry doesn’t agree with you.”
“Indeed I don’t!” said Jerry. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Mandy! How can you believe in Jesus as your savior and not be sure he’s right for someone else?”
“To be more accurate, Jerry, I believe it’s not my business to prescribe what is right for someone else. If my husband were wearing that tie, I’d tell him to change it. In your case, it’s not really my business–well, except for illustration!”
“More of this subjective stuff,” Bob cut in again. “You always retreat into the subjective. So how do you deal with a fraud in Christianity? If I want to know whether a preacher I see on TV really represents ‘true’ Christianity, how can I tell?”
“Well, to start with, he’s on TV,” said Jerry.
“That’s silly, and you know it!” replied Bob. “I can tell you the guy is a fraud because he’s proposing a magical process to multiply your money. You can only respond with other subjective stuff. There’s really no way for a non-Christian to know! Yet you don’t want me to blame you for the frauds on TV!”
“It takes discernment,” said Justine.
“Or perhaps just wisdom and good judgment,” said Mandy.
“On the other hand, we could all just go with the evidence! How about that?” said Mac. Then she looked at her watch. “Oops! Got to go.”
[Watch for more discussion when the God-Talk Club gets together again.]
