Today, I picked up my Malawian buddy and we went together to
a conference in St. Paul. His friend pastors a multicultural church in St Paul
which had (for reasons yet unknown to me) decided to fly several dozen
Congolese pastors to Minnesota for a weeklong leadership conference. I know.
It’s weird. But really, not much weirder (when you think about it) than sending
a whole youth group overseas to paint an orphanage.
Speaking of weird, I just got BACK from Congo. So to be
sitting in a musty Minnesota church basement with a bunch of Congolese pastors
wearing ill-fitting suits, singing Swahili in 3 part harmony, clapping in
syncopation, and all praying loudly and simultaneously… well it was very “out
of context” for me.
The teachings were good and I met some good folks. In fact,
an older man (incidentally a Ugandan) began inquiring about my work overseas. I
told him some of the topics we cover: small groups, mentoring, inductive bible
study, pastoral counseling, etc. “Oh we need you guys to come,” he said. “What
would be required to get you to Uganda?” I told him a pastor with good
connections with multiple churches would be helpful. “Well…” he mused. “I’m in
charge of 65 churches!” As if to say, “does that count?” Haha.
But being around these men (who I’m sure are godly,
wonderful guys) dredged up some strong emotion that I had during my Congo trip:
deep personal grief over the state of Christian ministry there. Let me explain…
A young preacher in alligator-skin boots welcomes my
colleague Dave to the pulpit after an hour of running around the stage, yelling
into the microphone between songs. Dave stands up from his chair on the stage
where they put all the “important people”. He gets down on the congregation’s
level where he stands right before the front row of all elders and deacons
(slightly “less important” people). In his characteristically quiet, unassuming
voice, he preaches a fabulous little sermon on humility. Personally, I am
deeply convicted. Then, young Alligator Boots gets back up. He surveys his
congregation with soul-piercing eyes as though the most profound nugget of
truth was tucked away just behind his tongue. Clearly, he is about to drop a
doozy on them. “Who in this room is prideful?” he begins slowly with almost comedic
gravity. “Who is not humble? Raise your hand! We’re going to REBUKE THAT PRIDE
TODAY!!!” He reaches a fevered pitch. Strutting around the stage (in an
unmistakably avian fashion) and wielding a torrent of zealous,
spiritual-sounding words, he draws pride out of their souls like venom from
their unsuspecting hearts. He seems quite satisfied that he has so quickly and
efficiently changed their lives. I nearly puke.
Next story… In the Congo, a man builds a church with his own
hands on his own personal plot of land. Then he is the chief, the absolute
monarch of the church. Presumably he has access to all the funds and controls
the church’s assets. If the pastor dies, the church disbands. After all, it’s his land, his building, his church.
Discipleship is a dicey topic because some have tried to raise up young leaders
who in turn divide the church and steal members (and thus tithes) for their own
ministries. If all goes well however, discipleship can be seen as a franchise
opportunity, as it is appropriate for a pastor to expect his disciples to share
their profits with their mentor so that he too can be prosperous.
In Congo, no cross-country bus ride is complete without a
rogue preacher standing up to give an evangelistic message. Even if he is
subtle enough NOT to elicit cash from the innocent travelers after his oratory,
the expectation is clear: here is a man of God. Let’s give him something. So
money is passed peacefully to the front and the preacher receives it with a
benign smile.
Greed. Pride. Self-centeredness. Ministry with an ambitious
capitalistic twist. Is it any wonder that I’m skeptical when I hear of
Congolese denominations that want to “double our number of churches in Congo by
such and such a date”? How many of these men would preach to a bus full of
Muslims? How many would refuse payment for the sake of the gospel? How many
would suffer and die for it?
Part of what’s so disgusting to me about these people is
they hold a mirror up for me to see (in very unsubtle ways) what I often look
like inside. I can talk about humility with the best of ‘em. But if you look at
my demeanor, the way I carry myself, you may doubt that I have an ounce of the
stuff! I can strut around sounding pretty wise (and congratulating myself the
whole time) but does my life display that same wisdom when my mouth is shut and
I’m going about my business? Well, lets just say I regularly have moments where
I’m glad nobody is watching me.
Confession: I really
dislike pastors. When a pastor starts talking, my first reaction is suspicion
and cynicism. And the only thing that melts my cynicism is the moment that the pastor
first demonstrates his humility. I’m not impressed by the title because I know the trap of pride and
hypocrisy is real one, even for seasoned ministers. Even for me. And THAT’S
where all the emotion comes from. They are a mirror of what I sometimes am… of what
I could so easily become.
Today I’m happy that I don’t have a nifty title, a big ministry,
and a whole lot of bragging rights. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t think I
could handle it. Not yet. I have too much vision, too much zeal, and JUST
enough charisma to fool myself into thinking I can do something really special
all by myself. If I ever have any hope of handling that sort of pressure, it’ll
only be because God disciplined me now and I let Him. It’ll be a lot of this
guts-inside-out kind of feeling. So I’m cozying up to that feeling today and
letting it challenge my whole demeanor. Even if it means poverty or suffering
or whatever, I just can’t stomach the idea of quietly compromising to
hypocrisy. I would just kinda disgust mysef like, all the time.
Okay, so… Book recommendation for you and me: http://www.pharisectomy.com/
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