Ministry Without Results
Lew Rinard
November 2005
“Church members are concerned. Attendance has been declining, and some are beginning to wonder about your leadership. I think it's time for a change,” the bishop concluded. “It's time to try something new; maybe another pastor will succeed in turning things around.” The pastor, a friend of mine, had not fallen into moral sin, nor was his orthodoxy in question. He had been faithful in preaching the Word and was committed to shepherding those under his care. He was a good pastor. But numbers were declining, and after further discussion the bishop asserted, “I'm looking for tangible, measurable results.”There is a growing assumption in American churches, in both personal and corporate spirituality, that spiritual heath correlates with outward, measurable success. Individually, it is assumed that faithful discipleship will lead to an ever-increasing felt awareness of God's presence. As one young man who visited my church said, “I've always assumed that if I don't feel exhilarated in a worship service I'm doing something wrong” (although it is more common to blame those in leadership). The norm is to feel God's presence in worship and prayer, so a decline in this felt awareness is an indication that something is wrong.
This is frequently combined with an expectation that healthy churches will grow numerically. The church is an organism, it is said, and organisms grow unless they are hindered by disease. A dwindling church, a church with declining membership, is in trouble spiritually. And the pastor of such a church is, by definition, a failure; he hasn't managed to “grow the kingdom” in his particular place of ministry. He may be a faithful preacher and a model of godly living, but he's in the wrong place (and maybe in the wrong calling), because his leadership is not producing growth.
The picture, in both corporate and personal spirituality, is that progress toward maturity can be reliably measured by tangible results, that as one grows in holiness there is a corresponding increase in “felt awareness” of God's presence, and that if a church has a strong core of faithful disciples there will be a continuing pattern of numerical growth. There is thus a tangible “bottom line” in spiritual formation, just as there is a bottom line in the world of business: an effective pastor provides his congregation with meaningful, relevant worship experiences, which also attracts newcomers and leads to numerical growth. This tangible bottom line enables leaders to set measurable goals, and when the goals are met the assumption is that God is doing a great work; when the goals are not met, there is a call for change: maybe the current group of pastors are not a good “fit” with their congregations; or perhaps there is a need for methods that are more relevant, more in step with the felt needs of the community. If the bottom line of measurable success is not being met, something is wrong.
This outlook borrows heavily from the business world and is seriously at odds with teachings that have been recognized and affirmed in the Church over time. In the writings of St. John of the Cross, for example, excessive concern about feeling God's presence is an evidence of immaturity: “In receiving Communion they spend all their time trying to get some feeling and satisfaction rather than humbly praising and reverencing God dwelling within them. And they go about this is such a way that, if they do not procure any sensible feeling and satisfaction, they think they have accomplished nothing.”1 They are more concerned with feeling God's presence, with getting something for themselves, than they are with pleasing God:
- They have the same defect in their prayer, for they think the whole matter of prayer consists in looking for sensory satisfaction and devotion. They strive to procure this by their own efforts, and tire and weary their heads and their faculties. When they do not get this sensible comfort, they become very disconsolate and think they have done nothing. Because of their aim they lose true devotion and spirit, which lie in distrust of self and in humble and patient perseverance so as to please God.2
An insistence on feeling God's presence (whether in corporate worship or private prayer) can actually cause a person to resist God's purposes, because in His wisdom He “through pure dryness and interior darkness... weans them from the breasts of these gratifications and delights, takes away all these trivialities and childish ways, and makes them acquire the virtues by very different means.”3 God withdraws the pleasure of His presence to lead His people to a stronger focus on Him (rather than their feelings of Him). So, the loss of sweetness and pleasure in prayer (if it's not preceded by a lapse into sin) is a sign that God is leading a person forward in holiness. “Oh, then, spiritual soul, when you see your appetites darkened, your inclinations dry and constrained, your faculties incapacitated for any interior exercise, do not be afflicted; think of this as a grace, since God is freeing you from yourself and taking from you your own activity.”4 If one is looking for tangible evidence of God's blessing, John would suggest, darkness and aridity are often more trustworthy than exhilarating experiences in worship and prayer.
John was not just spinning theories. He had, under the leadership of St. Theresa of Avila, been part of a reform movement in the Carmelite order. But those who opposed the reform imprisoned him for the better part of a year in a small, dark room that had been built as a visitors' toilet. During the months he spent in that makeshift prison, John was subjected to both physical and emotional torture; but the most devastating thing was that he was also deprived of any sense of God's presence: “It was all happening together: physical and emotional abuse; a whirl of anxiety in his mind; and, in his relationship with God, darkness. At the time when, if ever, he needed to feel the divine presence, his God seemed distant, even alien, and John felt himself a stranger.”5
In John's view, confirmed by his own experience, growth in holiness and spiritual maturity leads in the direction of unpredictability and surrender in the darkness of faith, rather than rational calculation which issues in measurable goals. One often doesn't know where God is leading or what He has in mind, and His ways frequently defy human rationalization. Even an apparent dead end or setback doesn't necessarily mean one has taken a wrong turn, because God often works in a hidden way. Periods of spiritual darkness have a counterpart in an experience Constance Fitzgerald calls impasse:
- By impasse, I mean that there is no way out of, no way around, no rational escape from, what imprisons one, no possibilities in the situation. In a true impasse, every normal manner of acting is brought to a standstill, and ironically, impasse is experienced not only in the problem itself but also in any solution rationally attempted. Every logical solution remains unsatisfactory, at the very least. The whole life situation suffers a depletion, has the word limits written upon it.6
This appears to be a consistent pattern: God leads His people in surprising, even perplexing, ways. The path that leads to holiness isn't easily reconciled with a pragmatic commitment to short-term success. Jesus, the pioneer of salvation, was made “perfect through suffering” (Hebrews 2:10). This meant embracing the Father's will when everything within Him cried out for escape (Matthew 26:36-42). His obedience involved self emptying, rather than self-fulfillment, and when He called His disciples He didn't say, “I've got just the thing you're looking for.” He said, “he who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me” (Matthew 10:38). Many of His disciples were offended when He said things the people of His day were not ready for, but rather than adapting His words to avoid turning them off, He spoke without compromise and lost a significant part of His following (John 6:60-66). He then went to the cross, in apparent defeat. Jesus' public ministry was characterized by suffering and surrender to the Father's will in the darkness of faith, rather than rational calculation and programmatic goal setting.
The same is true of the apostles. James and 1 Peter, in their opening verses, consider temporal instability and suffering a normal, even expected, part of Christian discipleship (James 1:2-12, and 1 Peter 1:6-7). The author of Revelation is identified as “I John, who share with you in Jesus the tribulation and the kingdom and the patient endurance,” writing from the Island of Patmos where he is in exile “on account of the word of God” (Revelation 1:9). Or consider Paul's description of his ministry in 2 Corinthians: “We are putting no obstacle in anyone's way, so that no fault may be found with our ministry, but as servants of God we have commended ourselves in every way: through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger....” (2 Corinthians 6:3-5). The thing that commends his ministry is not “a really awesome worship band,” power point or a positive, uplifting sermon; what commends his ministry is “great endurance” in the way of the cross. What were Paul's tangible results, by which he could judge the effectiveness of his ministry? He lists some of them:
- Are they ministers of Christ? I am talking like a madman-I am a better one: with far greater labors, far more imprisonments, with countless floggings, and often near death. Five times I have received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I received a stoning. Three times I was shipwrecked; for a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from bandits, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false bothers and sisters; in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, hungry and thirsty, often without food, cold and naked (2 Corinthians 11:23-27).
Tangible success in the short term has a mixed record anyway. Baalism was far more successful than the worship of Yahweh during the period of the Kings. Many left the early church to follow gnostic teachers, because Gnosticism connected with their felt needs in a way that orthodox Christianity did not. In the fourth century, Arianism seemed to be winning the day, so much so that Athanasius, the champion of orthodoxy, was exiled repeatedly. Many of the greatest saints have endured long periods of darkness and apparent failure: “They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, ill-treated-of whom the world was not worthy-wandering over deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth” (Hebrews 11:37-38). Both Scripture and Church history attest that it is impossible to tell, by looking at empirical, short-term results, what is going on in the spiritual realm.
This is more than theological nitpicking. Church leaders who embrace a results-oriented approach to ministry are out of step with Jesus and the apostles. When they identify God's call with a specific ministry goal (a specified number of new churches within the next ten years, for example), they've committed themselves to a mindset that doesn't leave room for the unpredictability of the Spirit's work. They're assuming a degree of knowledge and control that they don't possess. How will they explain it if their goals don't materialize? Will they imitate many in the business world by defining it as a ministry failure (“our ministers, or church members, haven't held up their end of the deal”)? Or will they consider the possibility that God has something very different in mind (and that they have perhaps been guilty of the sin of presumption)? Do their goals allow for the possibility that God may lead both ministers and churches through long periods of darkness and impasse? When goals are met, are there adequate grounds for attributing this to the work of the Holy Spirit? A commitment to a results-oriented ministry makes it very difficult to face these questions honestly, and even more seriously, God becomes peripheral and the felt needs of people take center stage.
This is illustrated by an advertisement from a church web site: “We're a group of ordinary people who have discovered the benefits of an active Christian life-style....Our informal, upbeat meetings will give you the lift you need to face the coming week.... [Our pastor's] practical, positive messages deal with the pressures and problems we all encounter. [He] shares biblical solutions that make life more fulfilling.” Attending this church, it is claimed, will provide a lift for the coming week and a more fulfilling life in the long run. The product benefits of Christian discipleship are such that the only sensible thing is to become a Christian: lots of fun, a more fulfilling life, and an eternal reward in the end. But when God, in His work of purification, begins to lead His people through times of darkness and aridity, times when everything is falling apart and there's no tangible evidence of His presence and blessing, life doesn't feel very fulfilling. Those who are converted and nurtured in an environment like this are ill-equipped to face impasse and spiritual darkness when they arrive; their environment has led them to expect something different.
If growth toward maturity does not guarantee a positive outcome in terms of numerical growth or feelings of self-fulfillment, what are the observable evidences of God's work? What should Christian leaders be focusing on, if the nature of Christian formation prevents them from setting measurable objectives? Paul gives some sound advice in chapter one of his second letter to Timothy (2 Timothy 1:8-18). To this younger disciple, who is somewhat timid and vulnerable to external pressures, Paul says, “don't be intimidated” (v. 8). The value of the gospel can't be measured by the priorities of this world. Those who rejected Jesus will also reject those who speak in His name. Those who value power and wealth and status will see the gospel as foolishness (or they'll try to twist it into something more consistent with what they want). Paul is saying, “don't be ashamed of this seemingly foolish message, and don't be ashamed of your association with me, a prisoner for the Lord - an apparent failure; be faithful in exercising your spiritual gifts in Jesus' name, and join with me in suffering for the gospel.” The danger is that, if he gives in to the temptation of shame, Timothy will begin tampering with the message. He'll try to adapt it into something more respectable, something less at-odds with the mentality of the surrounding culture.
So Paul urges, in verse 13, “Hold to the standard of sound teaching... in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus;” and verse 14,“Guard the good treasure... with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us” (v. 14). Timothy is a steward. He's been entrusted with something that doesn't belong to him. This includes two things: the content of truth, and the gospel lifestyle rooted in the truth. Timothy has heard Paul's teaching and he's seen Paul embody a lifestyle consistent with that teaching. As Paul approaches the end of his life, he reminds Timothy to follow his example “with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us.” He shows no interest in measuring the temporal success of Timothy's ministry. He's concerned about the stewardship for which Timothy will give an account one day.
If Jesus, the apostles and their followers are concerned at all about measurable results, they have in mind things like increased obedience; growth in the fruit of the Spirit; the imitation of Christ in the concrete details of daily reality; and perseverance in faith when everything is going wrong, when even spiritual consolations have been taken away. This process is a slow one, and it doesn't show up very clearly on quarterly reports to the denominational office. Eugene Peterson says about spiritual formation, “If you are in a hurry, you probably should not do it, because it is messy and lengthy and marked by much failure - burrowing into the soil of your place, your people, your congregation, your own life, sticking with it creatively, waiting for creation and covenant to form.”7 In other words, it's unpredictable, slow, and difficult to measure. It doesn't give denominational leaders statistics that they can point to and say, “look what we're accomplishing with your support.” The work of God's Spirit is not under our control or supervision. When we're in the middle of it, we can't see how it's all going to turn out. Church leaders who insist on measurable results are in danger of undermining this slow work of the Spirit, because they're focusing on the wrong things and are not willing to allow sufficient time for creation and covenant to form. By seeking to manage the church to produce the desired outcome, they end up with a counterfeit.
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