Denoms, NonDenoms, and Accountability

A couple of weeks back, I spent nearly the entirety of a Friday sitting in a long training.   This was the mandated training for Presbyterian pastors on sexual misconduct and malfeasance avoidance, one which we've got to attend every couple of years or so to maintain our good standing within the denomination.

I'd done it before, of course.  Multiple times, both in seminary and through the local Presbytery.  But there I was yet again, watching videos, talking with small groups, and sharing as a whole.   It was a familiar dance, so familiar, in fact, that it would have been easy to dismiss it as just another pointless hoop inflicted on us by the Woman.  'Cause you know, you just can't call it Da Man if you're PC(USA), 'cause it ain't.

Thing is, it wasn't pointless.  It wasn't a hoop.

I wish I'd never had to use my prior misconduct training, but the painful reality is that the awareness it provided me has come in handy over the years.   Encountering the reminders about warning signs to look for in a faith community, I see them now for what they are...the swords of cherubim, protecting the integrity of the church from those who would use it as a place of sexual predation.  Take that metaphorically if you must, but whichever way, that knowledge is important.

It's not about legal liability, either.  It's about insuring that church is a safe, gracious, and truly welcoming place, truly reflective of our Master and Friend.

The training also provided a reminder to the not-predatory-but-flawed human beings who pastor churches that human beings...if they are stressed, isolated, and spiritually out of balance...can make decisions that shatter their integrity, and leave former Christ followers cynical and broken and bitter.  We all need that reminder, all of us, and the tools that the wisdom of others can provide.

Here, though, I wonder about how that plays into the dynamics of the nondenominational world.  Having cast themselves free of the yoke of denominational affiliation, every nondenominational church is free to be itself.  The nondenominational pastor is accountable to no-one but himself, Christ, and the circle that has gathered around him.  And that is a problem.

Why?

Because in the absence of the discipline of denominational accountability, pastors can more easily wander afield.  You are the brand-made-flesh of your entire community.  The church exists because of you.  Your flock, who adore you, are unlikely to be willing to see you weakening, unlikely to admit to themselves that your behavior is critically compromising you.   In the absence of the insights of those who have resisted or endured that form of human brokenness, those pesky demons are likely to have far more play.  In the absence of the oversight and the training, and freely submitting yourself to a discipline that can guide and inform your struggle, your ability to maintain yourself in Christ is weakened.

And when we are weak, ugly things can happen.

That's not to say that denominations don't have a problem with malfeasance.  Of course we do.  But we know we have a problem, and together, we work to deal with it.

In those admittedly clumsy structures of our connection, we are doing something about it, and can hold each other to standards that honor the intent of our Teacher.   Across the many churches of a denominational community, the institutional memory of the damage done remains strong, and those stories act as a reminder and a caution to those fool enough to imagine that It Could Never Happen Here.

But if you are free, free of that discipline, then those stories are not in your ears.  If you are disconnected, and free of the collective reinforcement that comes from denominational affiliation, you are also free to wander deep into dark places.  You are free, should you so choose, to use your power and your charisma and the adoration of those who follow you to follow your every hunger.

Advantage?  Denominations.

Resolution

This Year of Our Lord Twenty Eleven, I find that I am still deep in the throes of attempting to uphold my resolution for the year.

It's not a hard one, really.  I can do resolutions.  Having resolved to do so, I've managed, in the last year, to get myself to stick to an exercise regimen that has taken me from being able to press half my weight...barely...to being able to bench all my weight plus thirty.  It feels good to be stronger, but given that I've got the strength and cardio thing rolling, that can't be my resolution.  I'd consider giving up beer, that sweet golden ichor of Dionysian delight, but 1) I just bottled a really amazing ale (really most marvelous, you must sample it) and; 2) I usually give that up for my Lenten fast and; 3) my beer gut seems more proportional now that the rest of me is like, all buff and all, and; 4) I just plain didn't want to.

Instead, I've taken to a more constructive project.  Wrapping up some unfinished business, as it were.

Back in my last year in undergrad, I spent many an evening and early morning in the computer lab, crankin' away on a children's novel.  It was a bit of fluff and whimsy, really, but I enjoyed writing it tremendously.  Sometimes, it wasn't that I was writing it at all.  It seemed to write itself.  There is such pleasure in letting your muse just pour through you.  That it was pleasurable was good, because my attempts to get it published were completely unsuccessful.   So it goes.

I enjoyed sharing it even more that I enjoyed writing it, particularly a few years ago when I had the great pleasure of reading it to my boys over two-week's worth of pre-bed story times.    Watching the light in their eyes listening to this story that wasn't a novel any other child knew, but was a sort of Secret Book Written By Dad Just for Them From Before They Were Born....that was wonderful.  That was worth, to me, more than even the most lucrative contract.

And a few years further back than that, when visiting with the mother of a deeply beloved friend from college after his funeral, I learned that he hadn't just squirrelled away the copies he'd asked me to bring him each time I finished a chapter.  He'd taken the chapters back to his Charlottesville home, where he and his mom had read them together.  Like a serial.  As I wrote it.  "Oh my dear," she laughed as we lunched in her home, a bright and gracious Southern Gentlewoman even on the day she  buried her youngest child, "You were the one who wrote that?  Jim and I loved that story!" 

So as a commitment to my kids, and to my friend who rests with our Maker, and to the hopes of my long-ago twenty year old self, I'm taking the manuscript...the last one surviving...and editing it, and retyping it.  Publishing now is...well...easy.  Particularly if you're self-publishing to iBooks and Kindle and Nook. 

Which, once I have done it, will represent the fulfillment of my resolution.

And every day or so for the last two weeks, particularly when I'm feeling lazy, the lads have checked in.  "So, Dad?  Are you making progress?"  "How's the book coming, Dad?"

This one, I'll have to keep.

The Ultimatum

Yesterday was a pretty solid Sunday. Worship was solid. There were more little squeakers in the nursery than I've seen in years. Our praise team did a solid job. After worship, we had a decent new members class. None of them fell asleep, at least, not for more than a few moments, and they were all trying really hard to stay focused. That was followed by a good, productive, and long session meeting.

And during worship, I told Trinity Presbyterian Church of Bethesda that I will resign in a year unless things improve.

It was a conditional resignation, of course. I really like my congregation. They're good folks, and there's a lot of promise and possibility for our future. Things there are totally, utterly different than when I began six years ago. The congregation has twice as many members. It has more than doubled the attendance in worship. Annual giving has tripled. It is now majority young adult, and this year, it's leadership is on track become majority young adult.

But for the last three years, things have stagnated. Stalled out. Gone nowhere. Our membership numbers are the same. Our worship attendance? Slightly down. Our giving? Also slightly down. If we were a strapping healthy congregation, that could be chalked up to randomness. It could be weathered. But we're not. Not yet. We're a redeveloping church that needs to revitalize if it is to survive. And if we're not growing towards a hopeful future, we will not survive.

And instead of focusing on what matters, we've been putzing around or wallowing in negativity. There's been plenty of 한국드라마, and very little telling the old old story. I could complain about how it's this person's fault or that person's fault. I could claim that the malaise is due to the brutal church fight that just blew a gaping hole in the Korean church that we've been partnering with. Or mutter about endowments and their tendency to instill complacence.

But these are excuses. They mean nothing. Ultimately, the responsibility for failure...and for a church, stagnation is failure...lies with me. It's the pesky thing about being in leadership. If this church isn't growing, the responsibility lies with me.

So the first butt that needs to be kicked into gear is my own. Setting a hard and fast deadline for my own ministry is necessary, because without the realization that the shizzle is on the line, it'd be too easy for me to let things stand.

Of course, it's always been on the line. We're accountable for every last moment of our lives. Sometimes, though, we need a bit of reminding.