You Feed Them

"You Feed Them"

by Nathan Harkness

The pastor of First Baptist Church sat in his study on a Tuesday morning pouring over a large desk cluttered with papers. The church’s bank statements, the budget, last week’s offering. He was feeling flushed and a bottle of aspirin sat at the ready on one corner of the desk. This is not going to work, he thought. This was a bad idea. Why do I have to be such an idealist? Why didn’t I listen to people?

Giving had been on a downward trend since he began his new sermon series on justice a year ago. One by one, his best tithing families had quietly found new church homes. He would always remember those pivotal moments of change, those moments of no return.

One Sunday he had cancelled the service and organized a volunteer workday in the community instead. While most families enjoyed the service project, an email the next day read, “While I appreciate your heart to serve and bless our community, you have to understand that every Sunday, I come to church absolutely exhausted from the week. The last thing I want to do is come to church and do more work! I need a church where I can come and be fed, not where I’m constantly being expected to pour myself out for strangers. I have barely enough energy to care for my own family.”

Another Sunday, a controversial sermon on poverty had prompted concerns over the “increasingly political agenda coming from the pulpit” though the following week’s talk on racial reconciliation generated even more controversy. A mostly Caucasian church in an economically and ethnically changing suburb, the pastor no longer felt they could continue as a homogeneous church in a diversifying community. The church had become a tutoring center during the week, offered ESL classes, hosted a food bank every month and was involved in outreach at a local high school. Most of the congregation was happy about these programs until the beneficiaries of these ministries began showing up to the church’s other programs. The custodians began to find cigarette butts in the parking lots on Sunday. There was graffiti in the men’s restroom.

Worst of all, 3 African American kids from the high school showed up to youth group last month with alcohol on their breath. Several families left the church at that point since it was no longer a safe environment for their kids. “I love the idea of being a diverse church,” one of the deacons had told the pastor. “But you have to understand that with low-income families you’re invite a huge set of problems. New security risks, financial strain, a much needier population. You have to think about the people God has given you to shepherd. They’re not going to put up with a lot more.

One by one families had left. Over the last year, the staff had been cut in half and the remaining ones took a 20% pay cut. The elder board had temporarily disbanded since only two elders remained. New faces replaced the old ones, but they brought more needs than resources. Single mothers, high-school dropouts, immigrants, day laborers, even an occasional homeless person.

Now barely making it on half of last year’s operating budget, the pastor sat at his desk and gazed across the room with a bemused expression at the blueprints that hung on the adjacent wall. The blueprints were a dream, an idea for an expanded worship center, new offices, and a new children’s wing. The staff had once dreamed together of all the growth and new ministries that the addition could mean. More space would bring a bigger constituency, a bigger budget, new programs, and more volunteers along with a greater overall impact on the community. But today, he thought instead of a winter’s worth of new potholes in the parking lot, a new leak in the roof, a demoralized staff, and carpets that desperately needed cleaning.

His head dropped slowly into his hands. God I thought I was doing the right thing here. I wonder now if I was just being idealistic and naïve. I was so sure that you wanted to me to bring in the poor and hurting in our neighborhood. But I’ve alienated everybody, I don’t know how I’m going to pay salaries next month… this church has been going for over 50 years, our savings are gone, and we’ll have to close our doors soon if we keep…

“Pastor,” a secretary’s head appeared in the doorway. “Marie Tennet is up front. She says the transmission on he car blew up yesterday and she needs it to get to job interviews. She’s asking for help… and she’s crying.”

If Marie had a stable personality and marketable skills, he thought, she wouldn’t have to go to interviews. She could go to work… “Okay… anything else?”

“Joel Perez was here earlier asking if there were leftovers from Monday’s food outreach… I told him to come back next month.”

The pastor thought of Jesus feeding the 5,000 with a couple fish and a few loaves. If only it were that easy, he mused. I’ve got a responsibility to my staff and my family. I’m already way out on a limb here. I’ve got people lining up for help. Hungry people. Uninsured people. People who can’t get a job, people who.... Did we even pay our missionaries this quarter? I wonder if…

“Pastor?” The secretary’s voice came again. “Did you hear me?”

“You feed them,” he mused quietly looking out the window.

“Sorry?”

He glanced quietly to meet her puzzled stare. “Uh… Can you bring me the check book Janice?”

“What for?”

The pastor shrugged. “Let’s help Marie out. Let’s get Joel some food. Heck… let’s spend it all.”

“Spend what all?”

“Everything Janice. Everything we’ve got. Let’s give it all away.”

The secretary’s eyebrows furrowed only a little. She was also the church’s accountant and she was used to this pastor’s occasional whims.  But this was a new one. “Marcus…”

“I’m serious Janice. Bring me the checkbook... And close the door.”

For the next hour, pastor and secretary came up with every person they could think of who had a need: church members, neighbors, people in the community... and gave away every dime the church owned. Small notes were attached to each gift, stuffed into envelopes and dropped into the mailbox before either of them could change their mind. Both knew they had just given away their paycheck, their livelihood, and their future. But there was a strange lightness and humor in the room as they methodically gave away every last shred of the church’s stability and financial solvency to anybody and everybody who could make use of it. And when the last envelope was sent, the pastor stood, gathered the papers slowly from his cluttered and gingerly set them in the garbage can. “I’m going home Janice,” he smiled. “Lock up when you’re done?” She nodded mutely, not sure what had come over her.

As the pastor walked down the dark hallway toward the doors, he thought of how he would break the news to his staff, to his wife. He wondered whether they could sell the building before the bank got it. He doubted it was worth much. Clearly he’d cracked up. But inexplicably he felt light, invigorated. He actually laughed out loud. “Alright God!” he shouted wildly, his voice echoing down the hall. “That’s that!”

At that moment he spotted Marie Tennet sitting near the doors looking somewhat frightened by the shouting pastor. “Hi Marie! How are you today?” he shouted cheerfully and paused to take in her dumbstruck expression.

They stood there silently for a moment until the pastor finally sighed and made his decision. “Well Marie, it’s not much to look at…” he said. “But it’ll get you around town.” Pressing the key of his ’96 Honda Civic into her palm, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

“It needs an oil change!” he called over his shoulder. “And don’t roll down the back windows. You’ll never get them up again!”

Mark Nyirenda on Discipleship

I took this video this August in the Congo. Missionary Mark Nyirenda does a fabulous job summing up the need for discipleship in the African church. Very well-put.

Relationship v. Institutionalitis

Both this picture and this video are from WDA’s work in Africa. Which impresses you more? Both of these things happen in our ministry, but which one is more encouraging, inspiring, motivating?

Jesus tried to escape the crowds to spend time with the 12. The only reason he chose to teach the 5,000 was because he loved them and saw they were like wandering sheep with anyone to shepherd them. It wasn’t because he “just couldn’t turn down such a great ministry opportunity.” He genuinely cared about people and relationships more than his teaching ministry.

I’m talking with 2 other guys about starting a WDA school of ministry here in Fayetteville, GA next year for the times when I’m NOT in Africa. Oh it would be awesome! We’d meet like outlaws in WDA’s grungy, cluttered basement, training small groups of Jesus follower to become radical disciple-builders. They’d go out with a mature zeal that would catch like a wildfire around the globe.

I think God must have a sense of humor because He laughs at me all the time.

I keep asking Him about this thing and he keeps putting it back on me.  He’s saying things like, “Don’t focus on what I might do in the future, but on what I’m doing right now. Right now, this is about you 3 growing together and becoming more like me. It’s about me training you in faith and love, showing you to say “no” to ungodliness. I’d rather have your heart than your talents.” He seems to be telling me to focus on building relationships more than on building ministries.

So I’m standing in the shower saying, “let me get this straight God. So you’re saying this project is about the relationships and you want me to focus my energy on the individuals as much as on the project?” And He replies, “Child, some day you’ll understand that everything you do is about the relationships you build and NOT about the structures or institutions you can create.”

So if we do this school of ministry… or if I just keep focusing on seminars in Africa… you might catch me trying to impress you from time to time with pictures of big gatherings and huge “successes”. But catch me at an honest moment and I’ll tell that all that stuff is really just a cover for the real important stuff: long afternoons drinking tea, prayers on the phone for old friends, deep rapport built with one individual at a time. It really is “all about the relationship.” Thankfully I work with people who share that value—we even have an acronym for it—though of course, we all seem prone to “institutionalitis” and lose our perspective pretty easily.

Who’s a sinner? Who’s blind?

Here’s an interesting theme I see running through ALL of John 9 where Jesus heals a man born blind. Throughout the chapter, a contrast is drawn between the followers of dead religion and the children of the Father.

Here’s the stuff the disciples and the Pharisees say:

“Who sinned so that this man was born blind? Him or his parents?”

“Give glory to God! We know [Jesus] is a sinner.”

“You were steeped in sin at birth! How dare you lecture us!”

Here’s what Jesus and the blind man said”

“This happened so the work of God might be displayed in his life.”

“As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me.”

“Whether he is a sinner or not, I do not know. One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see.”

See a difference? The disciples (who still didn’t get it) and the Pharisees were just interested in finding out who sinned and who is to blame. Jesus and the blind man understood that despite who may be guilty of what, the important thing right now is the work of the Father. What then is the father’s business? Reversal and redemption. As Jesus said to the blind man: “For judgment I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind.”

How interesting that the one person in the story qualified to judge people rejects the “who sinned?” question and defers judgment on everybody except for those who falsely claim the right to judge. He seems to say to the blind man, “Don’t worry about the Pharisees with their clever theological theories and brow-beating accusations. You know that you’ve seen the Father at work. And truthfully, you’ve discerned more than them. That’s why I’m here. To make simple folks “get” the truth of God and the clever religious folks be totally confused.

Seems to me Jesus is still in the business of doing that. That’s why I try not to be overly enamored of “professional Christians” like myself. As often as not, we lose the forest for the trees and it takes a begging blind man to knock us off our feet.

I think one big disservice we do ourselves and our Father is to think that certain types of folks understand spiritual truths more clearly because “he’s the pastor” or “she’s been a Christian a really long time” or “they’re missionaries in Africa.” We give people credibility based on their resume rather than the evidence of the Father’s work in and through their lives. Jesus never said, “Hey, I’m a Rabbi! I’ve been to seminary. I work for a ministry. You should believe in me.” He let the Father’s work give him credibility and authority:

“Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”

“Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor.”

A house church nearly hits the mark

Our search for a church continues. As I sat with my coworker last week describing my ideal church, I realized just how, well... idealistic I sounded. My critique of established church was unusually cynical even for me. I wonder if part of this polarization is a culture whiplash from being in the south (where you can talk to the bank teller about what the Holy Spirit is telling you and she'll nod empathetically and "the Lord" makes frequent appearances in the most casual of conversations).

So we visited a house church yesterday. Potluck followed by informal worship and teaching "as the Spirit leads". The "house" was more of a multi-million dollar mansion but even the enormous vaulted living room struggled to accomodate the crowd approaching a hundred. There was a real sound system and a legit worship band that most smallish churches would drool over. The "offering" that night went entirely to 2 church members in need, since the church has no salaries and no overhead.

It embodied many of my ideals: relational, missional, spirit-led. But somehow it was slightly depressing to see my ideals lived out. Somehow it looked even sexier in my head.

We both really liked it... in spite of the sense that the whole community was comforting each other's sorrowing spirits since we now (apparently) live in a nation that has clearly rejected "Christian values"...

The main bummer is that they don't kick off until our kids' bed time and finding a way to put them to bed at the house feels like a lot of work. We'll keep checking out the scene.