Tribal Church

Pastors have a fifty percent burnout rate. In the first couple of years of ministry, half of them will drop out. I expect this from nursing and teaching, but I didn’t know that the rate would be quite so high for the pastorate. Do our churches realize what we’re doing to our professionals? What about our denominations? When we put so much time and energy into preparing pastors for the ministry, isn’t it disconcerting to watch half of them leave within a couple of years? I have often seen people shrug off the burnout. They figure that the ones who were not tough enough left. We question their call into ministry, or find another way to blame the pastors for the failure.

But what if our assumptions are not true? What if blaming the pastor is not the solution to our problem, but compounds the problem? What if we’re losing our most gifted and talented professionals? What if it’s the healthy ones who are leaving? What if we ought to be looking at the employment situations instead of assuming it’s the minister’s fault? I wondered about this, so I asked my twitter community of pastors (I’m @CarolHoward) about why we fizzle out so quickly. This is the feedback that I heard.

The Financial Realities—No one entered the ministry to make a lot of money. We don’t expect to. But the problem occurs when it takes an awful lot of money to go to college and seminary. After seven years of no income and high tuition, most of us have tremendous debt, and when we take that first call in a small church or as an associate pastor, we simply cannot make the numbers add up. Too often, pastor salaries are decided by people who have never had to live with the reality of school loans, and the fact that their new pastor might be 40k in the hole never occurs to them. But the financial burden becomes too difficult for the pastor, and she has to walk away.

The Professional Loneliness—Clearly, after you become a pastor, going to a party will never be quite the same experience again. There are people who will tell you every problem they have had with religion, or every problem that they have in general. They will apologize for cursing or for drinking. Or they are entirely too happy that you’re a minister. And all of it can make a pastor long to be just an ordinary citizen of the world. The problem becomes compounded when the pastor is single. I recently went to lunch with a wonderful group of clergywomen, who explained that they do not tell guys their profession on the first few dates. They tell them that they work for a non-profit.

The Gaping Disconnect—There was also the sense that there was a detachment between the theory we learned in seminary, and the practical application that we needed in the church. For instance, we weren’t taught enough about finances, budgets, technology, or conflict management. I would add that we’re not taught evangelism in a way that is practically applicable either.

The Downward Trajectory—There was the difficulty of walking into a church that has been plummeting in membership for the last forty years. The frustration , anger, and longing to recreate the past looms large. Then when the new pastor walks in, he or she is considered to be either the bearer of salvation or the reason for the failure.

The Idea Dam—There was the palpable frustration over leaving seminary with great excitement and an innovative spirit for ministry, and then having all of that creativity blocked in the first few years. When a pastor is full of ideas, going into a declining church that is looking back, hoping to re-create the past, can be like a rush of water that hits a giant, concrete wall and has nowhere to go. As I look at generational theory, I can see that this could be a particularly frustrating thing for Generation X (those who are 28 to 48), because a leading characteristic that marks our Generation is innovation and an entrepreneurial spirit. Yet, in our churches, our creative flow can get quickly jammed.

Then there was The Problem of Productivity–We live in a world of metrics, reports, and data. Our congregants want to see our output, they want measurable proof that we have been working, that our time has been used in a valuable way. But what do you do when you spend ten hours of your week, counseling a couple through a terrible divorce? What do you do when you read a theological text to prepare for a sermon? How do you measure those hours, when you sneak off to the hospital to visit the teenager who just tried to commit suicide, but her parents don’t want anyone in the church to know about it? What about those weeks when your work calls you to be out of the office more than in it?

So much of our time is filled with work that cannot be measured, sometimes it cannot even be accounted for, but it is incredibly valuable. Not only that, but there seems to be a lack of trust underlying much of this inquiry. It can be quite frustrating to be laboring overwhelming hours, and then have anxious members checking to see if your car is in the church lot or have others proclaim that you “only work one hour week!”

It is clear that we cannot continue to train so many people and have them leaving the profession after a couple of years. So can we begin to imagine churches in which pastors can flourish? How can we communicate these problems to our congregations? What can we do for pastors who are starting out that might ease some of these tensions? What do you wish someone had done for you?

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Priests molested small boys in their beds at night. The boys were pulled into the confessional booth and groped. Horrors abound–stories that make our mouths fall open in shock, our guts wrench in grief, and our heads redden with fury. Predators are everywhere, and they don’t turn into something else when they put on a collar or earn an R-E-V for the front of their name. But the pernicious sins propagate when the church protects its institution over the wellbeing of children, when we hide pastors in far-away mission fields instead of in prison, and when we would rather not face the pain of upsetting an established school or congregation because of the tale of a small boy. When a religious person molests a child, trauma crashes through the child’s life, affecting the sexuality and spirituality of that person the rest of his or her years. The emotional turmoil ripples through the family and keeps reverberating through the community. For clergy to think that it is in our power to hide the assault, for us to turn our heads so that it can happen again and again, makes us complicit in the abuse. What can we do to stop it? What can church leaders and the people in the pews do to make sure that these things are not happening in their own congregation?

First, work on the local level, ensuring that practical things are in place. Wherever children are in a classroom, there needs to be uncovered windows in the walls or doors. Your faith community should have a child protection policy, which might include things like making sure there are two nursery workers or Sunday school teachers in every classroom. Leaders who teach children on a regular basis should go through a background check. All pastors should have a background check. Find out your church’s attitude toward reporting. Do they report sexual violations to the police, or do they feel that it is enough to alert the church authorities? When crimes are committed, clergy have a bad habit of protecting each other, and a nice retirement on the mission field or a cushy parish in a rural out-of-the-way area is not enough punishment for a pedophile pastor, and the move only puts more children in danger.

Second, find out how your church works. Just as corruption can spread in certain state governments, abuse can fester in particular church governments. Be wary if your church is a stand-alone congregation. If it is not a part of a denomination, then there may not be systems for background checks, reporting, or dealing with sexual abuse in place. On the other hand, if your church hierarchy is only made up of ordained pastors, then there may be a greater concern for the institution and not enough outside voices for clarity on sexual matters. When clergy and laity work together in the church, when they both have power, then there is less likelihood for the church to focus inward and protect itself.

Finally, make sure that women have appropriate power in your congregation or denomination. All women—and particularly mothers—can be fierce defenders of children in our society. Not only that, but in our country, many of us have been victims of sexual abuse ourselves. We know what it looks like, we know what it smells like, and many women will not tolerate it. Plus, if a church keeps the voices of women silenced, then you do not want to expose your children to a system of oppression.

The horror stories have to stop. Many of us feel powerless as we read about those who have been victimized in the past, but we can change what will happen in the future, if we take responsibility in our congregation and in our denominations.

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For those of you who are not Presby-geeks, I apologize for the series of posts that are about to follow… the short story is that Beau Weston wrote a paper for the denomination, which stated that we needed to Rebuild the Presbyterian Establishment.

I’m part of a group who responded to the paper. I joined the esteemed voices of Jose Luis Casal, J. Herbert Nelson II, and Cynthia Holder Rich, who are from various backgrounds, ethnicities, and positions in the church.

I’m white, and I’m a pastor. So as I thought about what I brought to the conversation, I figured that the one thing that I had going for me was that I was young (okay… so I’m 38… which means I’m really stretching this “young” label). I write about ministering to men and women in their 20s and 30s, so my responses center around that viewpoint.

Weston discusses my paper on his blog:

Merritt takes it for granted that the niche of the entire Presbyterian Church is to draw people like her – “writing as a woman who grew up a conservative Baptist and converted to Presbyterianism.” Her strategy for contextual evangelism is “in this particular time we can especially minister to those who are leaving politically conservative evangelical megachurches.”

Welcoming people who are leaving the Evangelical movement is not the core of my outreach strategy, it’s just one sentence from the paper, tacked on to a pleading hope that we “broaden our focus, from not only welcoming those who ‘know what it means to be Presbyterian,’ but also to inviting and accepting men and women from a variety of backgrounds.” So it seems a bit unfair to boil my position down to me wanting a church chock-full of people who look like me.

But, that’s okay. Pastors in growing churches often draw people with similar struggles and hopes. And, I suppose the same could be said for a certain latte-sipping academic white guy, who wants to make sure that the establishment is rebuilt with tall-steeple church pastors and executives. I mean, the last time I checked, most of those types are… well… white guys.

All snarky jabs aside though… reaching out to recovering fundamentalists isn’t a bad strategy. The fact that a new generation of Evangelicals is leaving their congregations goes far beyond my ministering from my small context and experience.

The Emerging Church movement is full of people who grew up Evangelical, and now they’re questioning what they had been taught. Sometimes EC gatherings feel like a Fundamentalists Anonymous group. UnChristian documents the negative attitudes of a new generation toward Evangelicalism. Christine Wicker reports a study that suggests that roughly over 1,000 people leave the Evangelical Church every day.

I’m not happy about this trend. It makes my heart ache, because most of those men and women are leaving Christianity, and leaving for good. So please don’t read this as some sort of sheep-stealing vitriol. (And, yes, I realize that there are PCUSA types who are Evangelical…)

It is just that my experience of the Presbyterian Church was different from the conservative Baptist Church in which I was formed. The leaders of my denomination showed me grace when I had been told that women could not be ordained. The church was there, giving me encouragement, education, and mentors to guide me. They taught me how to be a leader, even as a 22-year-old woman.

Not only that, but so many men and women surrounded me, as I wrestled with my faith, telling me it was okay to doubt, because my eternal salvation did not rely on my personal conviction from one moment to the next. I was held in a community of grace, and God could handle any question that I might spew at God.

It was such good news to me… and I have seen that it’s good news to so many others.

We have a strong and vibrant history of social justice and spiritual traditions. We have a connection with God and the world for which so many people long. And if I’m looking at the future of my beloved denomination, I’m not betting that efforts to rebuild its establishment is going to do much good. The world has shifted too much from the 1950s. We need a new strategy.

And focusing our efforts to reach out to a new generation–a generation who is ethnically diverse and longs to make a difference in the world–that is what gives me hope for vital ministry.

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Note to the women in the pews… it’s time to wake up.

Why do women suddenly change the rules of their lives when they walk into the church? I am, of course, talking about the fact that churches are female dominated organizations–women take up most of our pew space, a majority of our membership roles, and they do most of our volunteer work, and yet, the church persistently discriminates against women.

High-powered women walk into churches that do not ordain women as clergy every day. Young, professional, educated women, who work on Capitol Hill, attend PCA congregations that do not even allow for women elders. And even in our progressive churches, fair-minded women pat themselves on the back, because there is a female Associate Pastor who leads the children’s sermon, not realizing that the AP is receiving half the salary that the male is making.

Most of it is ignorance, I suppose. The women in the pews have never thought about what this discrimination does to female clergy. They are in church to commune with God, to get away from the frustrations of work, and so they do not notice the struggles of women in collars.

Most women clergy are not in a position where they can complain about discrimination. It is frowned upon in our profession to talk about money. And if a woman is in a particularly difficult job situation, she is often powerless, so leaving is much easier than fighting.

In other words, if the very real discrimination is going to stop in our congregations, if our churches are going to become sources of hope, rather than models of discrimination, then the women in the pews are going to need to roll up their sleeves and become advocates.

What can the women and men who are advocates for gender justice do?

1) Become aware of salary ranges of other clergy professionals in your area. Salary information is very easy to get in most of our denominations, and if you take a good look at the salaries in your area, you might find how women are paid much less in our churches. How does your pastor compare to the men in the area?

2) Become aware of the salary ranges on the church staff. How well is the female clergy person paid on your staff? How does her salary compare with the organist, choir director, and secretary? Is there a male pastor who is getting more money, even if he doesn’t have more experience or education? If there is a discrepancy, how can you make the church aware of it and fix it?

3) Do not allow personal information to taint the personnel discussions. Information like, “Well, I’m sure that her husband makes a good salary,” or “But she doesn’t have any children and he does,” or “She is single, she lives in an apartment, she doesn’t really need the money” should not be part of the discussion. Young married women are the head of household 40% of the time, and single women should not be paid less. These discussions should not be taking place, and they certainly should not be factors in determining salaries.

People look to their churches for moral guidance. What are we telling the businessmen in our congregations when we allow these things to persist? And what can we communicate if we begin to ask the right questions?

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It’s so good to be back. Hopefully, for a while now. I just had to go on a strict no-blogging diet while I finished my book. I’m not sure how I’m going to balance it in the future, but I think that part of the reason why it took me so long to write this one was because I was trying to blog and write at the same time. And pastor. And travel. And start a podcast. Anyways, a lot of things happened when I was away in the last breaks, so now I have a great deal to share with you.

For instance, my sister called the other day. My nephew was taking this photo of me and the First Lady Michelle Obama to his school. I got to meet her when she served a meal at Miriam’s Kitchen. Which is a great story, but not the one that I’m telling now…

My sister phoned to ask me what my nephew should call me. Obviously, he calls me Aunt Carol, but she wanted to know specifically, what would a classroom of third graders call me? She and my brother-in-law were having an argument about it, and I needed to settle the dispute.

I went through this whole big explanation. When I first got a call to a church, I chafed at the name “pastor.” My high school Latin kicked into gear, and all I could think about was “shepherd.” And that’s always a difficult metaphor. I mean, it’s a hard one for me to live into. I like Jesus being my shepherd. But, as a 26-year-old woman, I wasn’t quite comfortable looking at my flock as a bunch of half-witted animals whom I was protecting.

But, to be honest, the title “pastor” was what I called the man who stood in the pulpit when I was growing up in a conservative Baptist Church. The title seemed reserved for someone different. Or maybe it was because in Bible college, I heard the stern proclamation a million times, “Women cannot be pastors!” It was as if using “woman” and “pastor” in the same sentence was abomination. I knew that I had over come all of that… okay, not all of it… a certain amount of it still sticks….

So, if a person was going to use a title, I liked “minister” or “Reverend Merritt.” To me, to minister conjures up “to ameliorate,” to care for someone. It seems more appropriate.

Mostly, I don’t like the title at all. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I hate being introduced as “Carol” when I’m standing next to my colleague, “Rev. Wimberly,” but I usually like Carol.

But when it come to children, there’s something a bit different. I introduced myself to a couple of grandchildren one time, and I said, “My name is Carol.” Then the ordained, retired grandmother quickly corrected me, “This is Reverend Merritt.” It reminded me that I needed a title, but “Reverend” seemed like way too much pomp.

I finally complete my long ramble with the conclusion, “Tell them I’m Pastor Carol.” Yes, I’ve come to terms with “Pastor.” Then I hung up the phone, with a bit of heaviness. It dawned on me. I had been a pastor for ten years, and in all of that time, my very own sister didn’t know my name.

What’s sadder? I didn’t know my own name either.

It was a reminder of how hard it is to sort out our identities in this profession. With all of our baggage, histories, reactions, and longings, sometimes, it’s just hard to figure out who we are, and who we hope to be.

photo by nick.garrod

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When I was a teenager, I was good friends with this guy. He used to ask me out. A lot. After a while, I said yes (I’m not sure why. I think my brother talked me into it…).

We met, I got into the car, and then we drove. Not to a restaurant. Not to the movies. But to a grocery store 24 miles away from my home. I was completely confused, and I was even more bewildered when we went into the store, and he didn’t buy anything. We just sort of wandered the aisles without a cart, then we went outside, until he found what he needed. It was another girl, who was gathering carts in the lot. She was worn-out, and at the end of her shift.

He introduced me to her. And, after a couple of moments of painfully awkward conversation, I realized that she was someone that he had just broken up with, and he wanted to make sure she knew that he had moved on.

Or was he trying to make me feel jealous?

Who knows. It was just one of those weird things that people do when they are in high school. Whatever it was, the ex looked crushed and I thought it was quite cruel that he went out of our way to make sure that she saw me. Not to mention a waste of my night. Clearly, in my mind, any “date” that might have occurred that night was over as quickly as it began.

My friend was not so eager to give it up though. In the midst of that long, miserable “you’re just not the guy for me” month, I found him, late one night, outside of my window, hiding in the shadows, watching me.

I’m not sure how often he did it. That may have been the only time. But, it wasn’t the only time that I was stalked. Usually, it was in the midst of adolescent angst, when we had all of those heightened hormonal emotions and feeling of rejection.

I bring all of this up because I just led a webinar on Social Media Strategies for Alban, and there were questions from a woman who identified herself as single. She had concerns that were particular to her context, and they made me wonder…. Plus, my husband was out of town, and so I found myself less willing to Twitter my every move. I would write down what I did after I was done, but not beforehand.

I guess it made me aware of the vulnerable position we put ourselves in, as women and/or as pastors.

I wonder if we need to think about these things a bit more. Put together a Smart Women’s Social Media Safety Guide or a Clergy Cyber-Stalk Protection Policy. ‘Cause, face it, whether we are women or men, we’ve all had one of those parishioners who takes a little too much interest in what we’re up to.

Maybe that’s going too far, but I guess we could at least talk about the potential dangers. If you feel like you might be cyber-stalked, what do you do? What do you leave out of your updates? Do you have any general guidelines to keep you safe?

photo by O C E A N

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My apologies…

First, for going into denominationally specific topics. Those who are from other denominations, I would love to hear from you. And please let me know if there are studies in other denominations related to equal pay.

Second, for not making much sense. I have a cold, and I took some medicine that usually makes me feel better. At night. But, it’s daytime. I’ve slept a lot, and now I’m just kind of groggy and dizzy and awake and not making much sense….

But I did want to add a bit of an addendum to my last post, lifting up some of the pay equity facts in this report.

Full-time pastors, with 10 or less years of service, interesting facts:

•The wage gap is less with smaller churches (which makes sense, they are closer to the minimum), the gap gets larger with larger churches.

•There are more men at churches with 50 members or less (80% are men, 20% are women)

•Most women Solos and Heads of Staff serve congregations with 51 to 200 members.

•The worst gap is with women, who pastor churches with 501 to 1,000 members. Women make $50,038 and men make $71,128 (a whopping 21K difference).

Full-time pastors with 11 or more years of service, highlights:

•The most interesting thing is that there are not many women in this category. They make up 22% of the people serving churches of 50 or less, but that’s their strongest showing.

•Women make up less than 1% of pastors of churches of 1,500 members or more.

•Again, the pay gap is less with smaller churches, and it gets higher with larger ones. Men make about $7,000 more than women in churches from 201-1,000. Men make almost $14,000 more at churches from 1,001 to 1,500.

Full-time Associates:

•There are more male Associates than female Associates.

•Again, the worst gap is with the 1,500+ congregations. There is a $6,000 gap between the men and the women.

What can we learn? Well, I guess if you’re a woman who’s going to a larger church, then negotiate, negotiate, negotiate.

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I live in a beautiful house. I’m surrounded by beautiful art and furniture (most of it came from flea markets, charity shops, and thrift stores, but, seriously, I’m really blessed). I live comfortably and do not lack for anything. Except maybe a refrigerator. The freezer door opens every time we close the fridge door, and sometimes we find all of our ice cream full of crystals in the morning…. And an oven. All of the knobs are missing and it’s hard to tell what temperature we’re cooking at… but I digress. The point is that I’m satisfied.

And yet, I write about money.

I love my on-line buddies, many are deep in the wonderful world of free culture. The idea is that all information should be free and readily available for public use and modification. It runs parallel with a very Protestant idea that receiving the good news should not come at a cost, and should be creatively spread.

And yet, I write about money.

There’s a reaction against people who have spent years gouging the flock on a regular basis for prayer cloths and televised agape. And in the Emerging church discussion right now, there is a frustration that the leaders have “sold out.”

And yet, I write about money.

I know there must be a line somewhere, and I’m not sure how to point it out. Maybe… it’s right here… no. I can’t figure out exactly where it is….

But there is a line between getting paid for work–which is a very biblical concept–and fleecing the flock. And most of us, pastors and even the conference-leading writers, who publish with a company, are barely getting paid for our hours.

Do I write about money because I’m a greedy, materialistic jerk who could never be content? No. As I said in first paragraph above, I am very satisfied with what I have. But I just hate the judgment that can be dished out against people who are getting very meager payment for the hours and hours of work that we are doing.

I would claim, “I have a family that I need to provide for.” But, that would be hollow. I would fight for any single woman to be paid for her work as well. She deserves it too.

And that brings me to my point… I recently met Joseph Stewart-Sicking who is doing research on women clergy. He’s comparing his data to studies that were done ten years ago. I asked if women were doing any better with pay equity, and he said that we’re not. He explained that the only real difference is that women seem to be more resigned to their fate these days than in the studies of the first group of ordained women.

And that’s why I write about money.

Sisters, we’ve got to do it for ourselves, because no one is going to go out of their way to give us a raise, which means we could spend our entire careers at the minimum salary.

We, the generation who grew up with girl-power, we were told over and over again that we could become the President of the United States if we put our minds to it. Yet, we’re ending up on the bottom of the heap time and time again in our professions. We, women who graduated at the top of our seminary class, are finding it hard to compete against the men who only got through Greek because we spent so much time tutoring them.

Seminaries are still recommending less qualified men over experienced women for better paying jobs. Our denominational governing bodies are still giving shinier endorsements to men than to women.

Even though women far outnumber men in our pews, laywomen have not been fighting for equity; in fact, many women on church search committees would rather have a man in the pulpit. Many women on our personnel committees overlook the injustice between pay in our staffing models.

And so, I write about money, not just for me, but because I don’t want to read in ten years that men are still far out-pacing women with salaries and positions. I’m thinking about those girls in past youth groups who looked up to me and decided that they might go to seminary. I don’t want them to expect discrimination, because I didn’t fight for the wages of clergywomen.

There is serious injustice. And so we need to learn to balance our “I would do this even if they didn’t pay me” attitudes with a bit of fight.

(And now, if a certain woman on our personnel committee reads this, she will surely roll her eyes, since I turned down a raise last year…).

photo by owlsplace

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We haven’t changed the windshield wipers in a long time. The reason is pretty simple. It’s because we can’t do it ourselves, we need a special tool, and we couldn’t do it at the oil change place, because they don’t have the tool either. So, we have to go to the dealership to get the windshield wipers replaced, and the dealership is such a hassle. They take at least an hour to do the most menial tasks, and (here’s the kicker) then they call and ask me to respond to a phone survey every time I go in.

I hate surveys. Actually, I love reading data when it comes to something interesting. But when we have to make sure that the person behind the desk was friendly and helpful, it doesn’t quite seem fair. What if the person had been chewed out just moments before she helped me? Or what if she just found out that her mother just died? Isn’t anyone allowed to have a bad day any longer? I know that everyone should be nice, but do we really need take a Gallup poll every time we get the oil changed? Or when we talk to the customer service person at the bank?

I once heard that polling in general is skewed, because people are much more motivated to share their opinions when their opinions are negative. People rarely go out of their way to give compliments, but they will if they want to complain.

We live in a very odd culture, in many ways. One of the interesting things that has occurred, as the Internet has developed, is we have gone from a flat-screen information system, to a much more complex form of communication. We no longer just go to the internet for one-way communication, but rather, we go to the sites to discuss and dialogue. And we have the ability to review just about everything. We review products, books, restaurants, doctors, professors, and even churches. Our society seems to be filled with polls. We evaluate everything.

Don’t get me wrong. I love to be a critic. But, I wonder what this does to people, especially to the artists in our society. I mean, there are many times when an artist, a writer, or a musician, just needs to put out a bad product, before he or she can produce something beautiful. In our churches, we also need to have creative debacles before something wonderful happens. Or in the (twittered) words of Leon Bloder, “there is no space to fail in our culture and especially not in the church. And failing produces better results.”

When we think about planting churches, we point to the ones that have failed. When we think about starting something new, we reach back in our collective memories, and say that we tried that before. As if trying something thirty years ago proves that it will fail now. I wonder if we allow enough space in our culture for church leaders to be innovative, without constant feedback and (often) criticism.

There is a sense that the feedback will be helpful, that it will make us better at what we do. I’m sure it works that way sometimes. But it doesn’t work that way all the time. Many artistic movements were first met with icy-cold receptions. What if the Impressionists decided to use the feedback from popular opinion to drive their work? What about all of the musicians who changed their sound, plugged in their guitar, or unplugged it back in? Or what if Martin Luther King, Jr. constantly based his message on evaluations that he received? And, of course, in the midst of Holy Week, we know how relying on popular opinion worked out for Jesus.

There have been many people who spoke about things way before their time, whose words did not always get a hearty welcome from the consuming public right away. Often those artists could keep laboring on in obscurity, but not now. Now, book reviewers can give an author one star, even the reviewer cannot finish a sentence. In order for artists to put their works out to the public, they will be up for critique. From strangers.

I wonder how this will play out, in the long run. Of course, in my own life, most of the rating systems, reviews, bloggers, comments, and emails from strangers have been incredibly positive. Often they give me encouragement for weeks. But, it doesn’t always pan out that way…

So, what do you think about hyper-critical culture? Is it good for us? Does it create a society where we are holding each other accountable? Or does it lead to needless criticism? What about pastors? Do you encourage evaluations in your congregations?

5 Comments »

A friend from Texas was coolly telling me about constant run-ins she was having with the church matriarch. It’s pretty common, you know, for the new woman pastor to have difficulties with the matriarch. It just screws up the dynamics when there’s more than one Mama-in-charge.

Anyways, the pastor was remarkable. My clergy friend explained how after every nasty note and comment, she would just make it clear that she wasn’t going anywhere. Everyone in the church was going to have to get used to the fact that she was the pastor now. It took some time, but the minister prevailed.

The pastor was doing the right thing. When church leaders cower to bullies, then it creates a really unhealthy situation. She was breaking the cycle of dysfunction by saying, “I’m not going anywhere.”

My own reaction, at least a few years ago, would have been different. It would have been, “Are you going to fire me? ‘Cause if you are, just say the word. I’ll be happy to clear out of your way.” I guess my response stemmed from a fear of being canned.

The fear has some basis. These are difficult economic times, and as Kathleen Parker reminds us, pink slips are the new black. And these are times when young professionals are greatly affected.

And for pastors—it’s really weird—sometimes a church will hang on to a minister who drinks on the job, sleeps with the organist, and hides shady accounting for twenty years. But then the next person, they’ll axe in a heartbeat.

I’ve met really wonderful pastors who are negotiating severance packages.

Or, in difficult economic times, many churches have to go through the excruciating pain of downsizing, and it doesn’t matter how gifted or talented the pastor is, or even how much the person is loved, congregations have to make tough choices.

The fear of being fired is sometimes based in reality. But, as it’s never good to live your life based on fear or threats, it’s certainly not good for the church for a leader to be reacting out of fear. 

So it was a learning curve for me. An internal resolve that I just needed to figure out. 

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