Reading: Preaching book chapter 5

CHAPTER 5: THREE TASKS OF EVERY CHRISTIAN

DESPITE THE EASE WITH WHICH WAGNER HAD shrugged off any army fanaticism, Jared couldn’t help but notice that his office seemed ready for a white-gloved inspection. There were no papers askew, no cluster of photographs, no stacks of books in a corner. The room spoke of discipline — perhaps the only such sanctuary of order Wagner had in a church filled with construction paper and primary paints.

Wagner walked in, now dressed in a crisp shirt and tie, and grinned broadly. “Glad you could make it,” he said, sitting on the edge of his desk and gazing down- ward at Jared. “Art tells me that you were a student of his some ten years before I came through seminary — that right?”

“Right,” Jared answered, feeling somewhat old and somewhat short in the span of two seconds.

“I owe a lot to Art,” Wagner mused. “This church wouldn’t exist, you know, if he hadn’t gotten me excit- ed with John Wesley’s idea of troops.”

“That’s what he said — you’d taken his idea and run with it. I wanted to see for myself.”

Wagner did not reply but fixed him with a probing stare. “I see that this is not idle curiosity,” he said at last. “You’re looking for new ideas, am I right?”

“Right,” Jared said again, his voice somewhat shakier.

“Hmm,” Wagner breathed. His eyes narrowed. “A lot of people come here looking for ideas, and most of them end up trying out the Bible-reading tree, or the military  ranks,  or  some  other  piece  of the  puzzle.  I rarely find people who are interested in the key to the whole thing — the puzzle frame that holds all the pieces together.”

After several seconds of silence, Jared murmured, “And what is that?”

Wagner  just  smiled,  then  turned  and  sat  in  his chair at last. “Let me answer your question with anoth- er question. What is preaching — in your opinion?”

Jared felt his face flush. “I ... I know a lot of things it’s not,” he joked lightly, but Wagner didn’t smile. “To tell the truth, I’m not sure anymore. I suppose it’s a way of connecting people to God.”

“No, you’re telling me what preaching may or may not accomplish. I want to know what it means to preach to someone. Tell me what it is you do each week putting together a sermon.”

“OK.” Jared had to think a moment; the process was so ingrained that he rarely considered  it. “I pray, and I listen for God to lay something on my heart to say. I read some Bible passages on that topic, and maybe some books. I meditate on it, let it percolate for a while, then write out an outline to speak from. That’s about it.”

“Simpler.”

“Does it get any simpler?” Jared asked with a nerv- ous laugh. He felt like a schoolboy giving the wrong answer. “I pray and listen for a topic, read about it, and then speak to the church.”

“You’ve almost got now. Boil it down to three words.”

“Pray ... read, and speak, I guess.”

“Precisely. That’s what preaching is all about. You talk  to God in  prayer,  you  listen  to God through  His Word, and then you share that ongoing relationship with other people. Three tasks.”

“You make it sound like I’m just doing devotions and talking with a friend about it,” Jared said, frowning. “That’s simple Christian living, not preaching.”

“But simple Christian living is preaching!” Wagner boomed. His eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “So much of the world will rub shoulders with God only when they encounter  Him  in  our  lives.  What  you  and  I  do  on Sunday morning is a more complicated version of what the individual does, but it’s exactly the same task.” He clasped his hands together firmly, illustrating his point. “That’s the puzzle frame that holds together everything that we do at this church: All of us, from me on down to the newest  member,  are talking and listening  to God daily and sharing that relationship with others.”

Jared eyed  his fellow  pastor  skeptically.  “I don’t want to sound arrogant when I say this, but doesn’t the idea of putting everyone in the church at the same level devalue our position as pastor? What I mean to say is — if  everyone  can  do  it  for  themselves,  why  should  I preach at all? Why not just let everyone have a turn?”

Wagner didn’t answer immediately. Instead he leaned back in his chair and let his gaze drift out the window. A grassy field bordered  the church property, and a handful of boys were playing an impromptu game of baseball on it.

“What  game  are  those  kids  playing?”  Wagner asked absently.

Jared got the feeling he was being toyed with. “Baseball,” he answered flatly.

“And  what  are  the  rules  of  baseball?”  Wagner turned back to Jared. “Are they any different in the big leagues than they are on the playground?”

Jared contemplated making a joke about the designated-hitter rule but thought better of it. “No.”

“So then these kids play the same game as players at the stadium, but they do not take turns with the more experienced players. In fact, they travel to the stadium and watch those games. They go, they get inspired, they learn skills, they have fun.”

Jared smiled as the corollary sunk in. “You’re all playing the same game, then, but at different skill levels,” he echoed.

“Correct.”

Still, something didn’t sit right with Jared. “But that means I have to be playing at the top of my game each week,” he said. “What if I go into a slump? That’s a lot of pressure.”

Wagner smiled. “On the contrary! My church offers less pressure. Think of it this way: If I brought, say, a music fan to the baseball stadium, you’d have to hit a lot of homers in order for him to take much interest. But if I brought a Little Leaguer” — he gestured out the win- dow — “who knows the game and is playing it himself, then he’s automatically  drawn up in the drama of it. He’s there for the love of the sport, not just your enter- tainment value.”

Jared felt himself release a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. He’d never even imagined an audience like that, let alone preached to one.

Wagner was staring out the window again, and seemed to be speaking almost to himself. “I spent my first couple years here trying to be the star player — the kind of shining example you’re talking about who’s always batting it out of the park. These days I think a pastor should try to help others see that they can be the stars.”

“And how do you do that?”

“How do I put it?” Wagner asked no one in partic- ular. He thought for a moment and turned back toward Jared. “When you preach, your goal is not to impress people with what you got out of the Bible, but to impress people with the possibility of what they might get out of the Bible. Your goal is not to have people walking out saying how great their preacher is, but to have people saying,  ‘I  can’t  wait  to  do  or  be  something  for  the Kingdom.’ It’s about lifting people up, not being lifted up.”

The last sentence stung Jared a little; he considered himself a rather humble preacher. Regardless, his face spread into a grin of excitement. Tactful or not, Wagner was onto something.

“So, how do I get what you have?” Jared asked. “I see a sort of chicken-or-the-egg problem on my hands: Do I try to change the people’s habits first so that my sermons can be more powerful, or do I change my sermons first in order to inspire new habits?”

It was Wagner’s turn to smile. “Good question. I do not want to imply that such changes can happen instantly, or even easily, but there is a definite starting point: Begin with your wife.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Jared said, although he was almost certain that had been Wagner’s intention.

“I’m going to make the assumption that you have a regular habit of reading the Bible and praying each day. The next step is to talk and listen to God together with  your  wife.  Share  what  you’ve  been  learning  on your own. Keep those three parts of preaching in mind: Pray. Read. Speak. Once you’ve got that going, involve your kids and create a time of family devotions.”

Jared stifled a laugh. “You mean that you want me to become a sergeant — to use your metaphor?”

“Indeed.”  Wagner  nodded  solemnly.  “You  might feel you have more important  things to do with your time, but let me assure you there is nothing more important.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right — it’s a good idea to have a solid foundation in my life for when ministry gets me down.”

Wagner shook his head. “No, no. Your family is not some launching pad from which you do your ‘real ministry.’ Your family is the key to making a successful church.”

“OK, you’ve lost me,” Jared said.

“Let  me  share  a  scene  from  my  childhood,” Wagner  said,  his  voice  slowing  into  a  storytelling rhythm. “Every New Year’s Eve, Mom and Dad and my two sisters and I would gather around the dinner table and make a family resolution. One year it was a promise to take turns doing the dishes. We failed, like we did every year, because words and good intentions are not enough. But toward the end of the year, Dad began mak- ing good on his commitment. I could see how much Mom appreciated that, and how proud she was of him. So I joined in, too. Partly, I think, I wanted to be like my dad, and partly I wanted to do what was right.”

Jared nodded. “In other words, ‘Do what I say, not what I do’ just doesn’t cut it.”

“Never did, never will,” Wagner said. “A pastor is much like a father to his congregation; while a visiting pastor can sweep in and impress the crowd with some razzle-dazzle, the regular pastor has his whole life open before the people — the good, the bad, and the ugly. The people will be able to tell if the pastor has a walk with God. They see what kind of relationship  he has with his wife. They watch his interaction with his children. His people will listen to him based on those criteria, not on how well he can put words together. As with an army general, the right to be heard comes from serving in the trenches.”

Jared swallowed hard. “I think I’m starting to catch on. What you’re suggesting doesn’t sound easy ... but it sounds right.”

Wagner nodded.

“So, what’s the next step? How do I move from doing  devotions  with  my  family  to  having  a  whole church on the same devotional track?”

“One step at a time,” Wagner said, smiling. “Start by helping other families do the same thing in their homes. Then gather them together for mutual encouragement. Sing songs and share what you’ve been learning in the Bible; it will even help your habits within the family because you’ll all know that you have to perform in the larger group.

“Once you’ve gathered more families than you can handle, split into smaller groups. Keep meeting with the leaders of the other groups to make sure you encourage and support each other. As more and more people join, deciding to hop aboard the devotional track, your job will get more and more complex. But remember that at each level of leadership your three tasks remain the same: pray, read, and speak.”

“What do you mean by getting more complex?” Jared asked.

Wagner thought for a moment. “Let’s take the problem  of incentive.  You’re  going  to  find  out  fairly quickly that people have a deep resistance to doing any sort of ‘homework.’ With my kids, it was fairly easy to motivate  them by offering them a hundred dollars to read the Bible in one year. But that strategy wasn’t going to work with my whole church — well, it might have, but I wasn’t willing to pay the price!” He smiled. “We ended up finding a cheaper solution: leaves on a tree. It might not be as strong an incentive, but it works well with an entire church because you have enough people to really see the progress being made. It’s a bit more complicated to organize, but it’s the same hurdle we’re clearing.”

Jared jumped in excitedly. “And I bet it’s a big help to experiment  and fail on the small scale before  you have a whole church to worry about.”

“Indeed. You catch on quickly.”

“Oh!” Another connection had made itself clear to Jared. “And that’s why you worry when people take only the idea of the Bible-reading tree. It’s leaders who are trained to adapt and experiment that makes it work, not necessarily the incentive itself.”

“Yes, that’s part of it,” Wagner said. “Another rea- son is that any congregation is going to have big objections to signing on to an identical reading track — it doesn’t leave room for personal choice, it demands too much time to get through. Most churches aren’t equipped to deal with these obstacles, but we were able to overcome them because we have all these various levels of reinforcement. I started preaching my sermons out of chapters in the Bible that were in the reading for the week, and I got my core leadership to follow the same path in their small-group studies, and before long people started following along. They felt left out of the conversations when all their friends were talking about the week’s reading, when they saw other people putting leaves on the tree, when they found out I expected them to be familiar with the text when I preached. After about six months, once they realized that this wasn’t a passing fad but something I was fully committed to, most everyone began following the reading track. It’s really the levels of reinforcement that make our church work, not the visible incentives we come up with.”

Jared smiled sheepishly. “Then I suppose I shouldn’t ask you about the other incentives I saw in your sanctuary.”

“Not at all! They’re all concrete approaches to lis- tening, talking, and sharing, so they paint a good picture of what we’re about. Ask away.”

“OK — I noticed a bunch of verses painted on one of the walls. Were those memory verses?”

“Good observation,” Wagner answered. “We have a goal of memorizing 52 verses every year, and then we paint  the  wall over and start  again.  Traditionally,  we have chosen something out of the week’s readings that we haven’t memorized in past years. For next year we have talked about memorizing the entirety of a longer passage, along with our daughter churches, and then gathering everyone in the high school stadium for a big singing and reciting event. Again, this sort of memorizing would be arduous for the individual, but corporately we are able to practice together — on Sundays, around dinner tables, in Bible studies. People make flashcards and record tapes for their cars; it’s quite an enjoyable challenge.”

Jared shook his head in disbelief. “Where do they find the time to do all that?”

Wagner chuckled.  “That’s  just the tip of the ice- berg, Palmquist! Those are just our incentives to help people  with listening  to God each day. We also want them to talk to God! For that we have a bulletin board where people post prayer requests; we have people get up during the service and share what they’ve been praying for; we have prayer guides based on the structure of the Lord’s prayer that we encourage people to follow in their daily time with God.

“And don’t forget,” Wagner said, pointing toward his temple, “that we want people to share their walk with other people, too. Some of that sharing is going to take place within the church, as people share with their families or with the Sunday congregation. But we also encourage sharing with friends and co-workers and family outside the church — not with a goal of selling the Gospel, but simply to share a verse, a song, or a les- son learned that week. For every new person we share with, we write that person’s name on a piece of construction  paper  and  add  it  to  the  chain  that  snakes across the ceiling.”

“The ceiling!” Jared laughed — he hadn’t thought to look there. “And I suppose it’s pretty much covered by now?”

“Several times over, actually. I hate to take down a chain, because often people will join our church and we’re able to show them their name up there. I love that, because it gives them a feeling of belonging here, a sense of a greater plan for them. Often they can find their name on the chain several times, because several people took the opportunity to share something about God with them. It’s a visual history of where God was present in the life of this new person. But, alas, people keep sharing and the chain gets longer. You’ve heard of people who ‘live, breathe, and eat’ sports, or whatever their hobby happens to be — they just can’t stop talking about it, or using those metaphors, or relating every- thing to it? That’s us.”

Jared’s eyes narrowed. “So are you saying that everyone is involved in outreach? You don’t have a separate Outreach Committee or anything?”

Wagner laughed. “Oh, we’ve found little use for committees of any sort! I truly believe that the Christian life should not be chopped up into little pieces and divided  among  labor like in a factory.  It’s  the job  of every Christian to do outreach, to practice hospitality, to give to the poor, to disciple other Christians, to praise God in song, and so on and so forth. Putting a committee in charge of something tells people that they don’t have to worry about it any more. Getting everyone involved, and letting a few key mentors rise to the top based on God’s blessings of talent and opportunities — that’s the way to go.”

Jared started to say something, then stopped and frowned. “I don’t know if I’d like that. I find that when I delegate things to committees  they get better input than I get all on my own.”

“Then I’ll put it another way: We’re a church full of committees — every family, every Bible study, every group of leaders  is a small committee  that discusses most every issue we face as a church. When the time comes to make a decision, I can ask my captains for the thoughts and feelings of everyone under them and can weigh  their opinions  accordingly.  That way, everyone has a voice — not just the loud people or the brainiest people or those who live next door to a committee member.”

“OK, I see that,” Jared said hurriedly, “but the decisions still come down to you, right? Doesn’t than make you something of, well, a dictator?”

Wagner was silent. He stared at the floor for a moment, then turned his gaze outside. Jared’s palms began to sweat, and he was about to apologize when Wagner said, “It’s a nice day out. Why don’t we go for a walk?”

The two pastors walked along the sidewalk outside Cornerstone’s  building.  On the other side of the road was a park where the kids were playing baseball, but for some reason Wagner was more interested in walking on the side with office buildings, traffic congestion, and construction projects.

“I will admit,”  Wagner  said  at last, “that I have been known to carry this army motif too far. My people joke that I’m going to toss so-and-so into the brig, or hold  white-gloved  inspections  of  the  resource  room. And I’m ashamed to say that’s not too far from the truth

— I can go right off the deep end sometimes. Whenever that happens I repent and feel terrible, and I offer to just ditch this military thing. But my people never let me. That always brings me back to earth: to be reminded there’s a whole team at work and this church is bigger than just me.”

He smiled. Jared could breathe again.

“To be frank,”  Wagner  continued,  “ I’d be even more tempted to believe in the applause and think that I know better if I didn’t have this military structure. A good general is responsive to the concerns of the lower ranks, because those are the people on the front lines. I have a network of people designed to tell me what our needs are, and a leadership team to make plans that address them. As a general, I don’t just come up with stuff and pass it down the line — I respond to the real battles we’re facing as a church.”

Jared nimbly dodged a teenager skateboarding down the sidewalk. “I can see that,” he said. “But don’t these levels still create a pecking order within the church?”

Wagner stopped and smiled. “And what group doesn’t have a pecking order?” he asked, his head swiveling. “Just look around us.”

Jared looked around tentatively, and realized why

Wagner had chosen this route. Jared had, quite literally, walked into Wagner’s trap.

“The organizational structure of the army is no different than that of any organization,” Wagner said, almost giddy. He pointed to a  few orange-shirted men filling potholes. “What ranks do you see there?”

“A few workers,” Jared said without enthusiasm. “And probably a foreman of some sort.”

“Don’t forget the invisible parties, like project lead- ers and owners. Let’s try another one: What ranks do you see over there?” A school bus was attempting to merge out of a blocked lane.

“Well, counting the invisible people,” Jared said slowly, hoping to locate a flaw in Wagner’s example, “I suppose there are students, teachers, and a principal. And a superintendent.”

“Good. Now try over there.” Wagner was pointing to a young mother pushing a stroller and pulling a five- year-old in tow.

“A family?”

“Indeed,” Wagner said, still smiling. “Every person in a family starts out as a child — a private, if you will. When you get married and have children, you get promoted  to sergeant.  You’re  in charge  of more  people than just yourself.  When  your children  grow  up and have children of their own, you become a corporal — you have influence with an even larger group. If you live long enough, you may even get to be the general of a vast family tree.”

Jared just stared at Wagner.

“My  point  is  simply  that  every organization  has certain levels that you try to rise up to. And levels work.” Wagner began to walk again. “Two truths of human nature make them work: First, people like to play or work with others who are at the same skill level. That keeps them from getting either bored or frustrated. And second, people like to advance to the next level. That’s what keeps them motivated.”

Jared hurried to keep up. “So why choose the army structure over any other?”

“What makes organizations different from each other is not their structure but how rigid or loose the interactions are between the levels. For instance, in a business climate you might move up or down the ladder for reasons of politics — who you know, what you look like. The army is distinctive because promotion is based on merit.”

“And you like that emphasis?” Jared asked.

“In a word, yes,” Wagner said. “At Cornerstone, we believe that God has blessed each person He has called to His church with gifts and abilities — as well as opportunities to grow in the knowledge and use of them. In our church, leadership is not based on whom you know, what meetings you attend, how long you have been a member of the church or have been a Christian, or how much you know. It is based on your faithfulness at each level and the fruit God deems to produce.”

Jared mulled over his colleague’s words. “I think I’m starting to catch on to the idea of levels now — just barely.” He smiled. “But don’t you run into problems with people who, well, like it the way it was?”

“How do you mean?”

“Like someone who wanted to skip a rank,” Jared said. “Say a person was talented enough to lead a great Bible study but didn’t want to do family devotions.”

Wagner sighed and looked at his feet. “We had people leave for just that reason, especially at the begin- ning. Sometimes it’s hard for people to set down the prestige of leadership to return to the basics. It was a hard decision, but if we had bent the rules for some peo- ple, it would have demoralized everyone else. Why work hard when someone  else will get the job who has a friend in high places, you know what I mean?”

He looked at Jared again. “I find this all too often in churches:  No  one  has  any  idea  how  to  successfully move up in leadership, so they have no motivation to do so. Instead, the church ends up hiring people from the outside — whereas, in the army, all promotion is done from inside the ranks.”

Jared laughed. “You’re saying you’ve never brought in outside staff?”

Wagner thought for a moment. “We’ve never trans- planted anyone into a leadership position, no — not without starting as a private.”

“I just don’t see how that’s possible,” Jared said. “How did you get pastors for your daughter churches?” “You’re  not  thinking  like  an  army  man  yet,” Wagner chided. “Most churches who want to daughter a church gather a core leadership team who then go out and try to attract an audience. We send out the audience and let them grow the right leadership. A group of families who are already meeting and worshipping together as a branch of our army is a perfectly viable daughter church under the leadership of a colonel. They simply split off, and then add captains and generals as their growth demands that level of coordination.”

“So  the  pastors  come  from  within  the  church?” Jared said, as if trying to convince himself. “You don’t hire pastors coming out of seminary?”

“I’m proud to say that almost half of the pastors of our daughter churches went to seminary after they had birthed the new church,” Wagner said. “We have an arrangement with a seminary that allows pastors to complete their course lessons online, and that makes it possible  for them to study and minister  at the same time. As for the other half — we have taken on seminarians and established church pastors who have a goal of leading a daughter church, but we don’t hire them. They have to work through the ranks like anyone else.”

“But why go through that hassle?”

Wagner shrugged. “The fact is, most pastors have not learned to preach in the trenches. They went to school and got awarded the generalship, and now they try to act out their notion of what a good general ought to be. It is often forced.”

Jared looked away. He felt pierced. He could see himself through his congregations’ eyes; they looked for an model for how they might live, and he was simply guessing at what to show them.

The pair walked along for several minutes without talking.  To  anyone  who  saw  them  they  might  have looked like the oldest of friends, needing no words to fill the space between them.

“Where do I go from here?” Jared asked in a whis- per, and Wagner barely heard him.

“I tell everyone who comes to visit me the same thing,” Wagner said. “Whether you’re starting a new church plant or trying a new approach in an established church, begin by simply humbling yourself and becom- ing a private in your own life. Become a sergeant in your family. Practice in the trenches, then move up the line, and you’ll be surprised how well your sermons and your leadership skills improve.”

Up  ahead,  Jared  saw  the  Cornerstone  building come into view. Apparently, they had taken a lap around the block and were coming back to where they had started.

Wagner continued. “Even if the only thing you manage to do is convince your congregation that you’re all playing the same game — that your preaching and their  daily  devotions  are  essentially  the  same  three tasks — then that itself will invigorate your preaching ministry. If you end up taking it beyond that, adding rankings and reading trees, then that will be up to the opportunities God grants and the talent he’s given you, won’t it?”

Over Wagner’s shoulder, Jared watched the group of children playing in the grass, still caught up in a game of baseball. No parents were pushing them to play, no coaches promising pizza after a win. They were there, scampering around, simply for the love of the game. He wanted that feeling again, and he wanted to instill it in the hearts of weary Christians. In that moment, as he nodded absently to Wagner’s rhetorical question, he felt the restlessness in his heart completely melt away.