Those %&@#! Numbers

I’m struggling as a pastor these days. I know I’m not the only one. While I expend a lot of energy convincing myself and everyone around me that I’m doing well, ministry is great and everything’s coming up roses, sometimes it takes more energy than I can muster to maintain the façade. If I’m completely honest, I have to admit that I’m fumbling to find my way.

It’s odd that in this, my sixth and most likely last parish, I am less confident than I have ever been about my ability as a pastor. I was not prepared for ministry in the 21^st century. I can’t think of a single thing I learned in seminary that applies to today. I’m sure there must be something, but I’m hard-pressed to tell you what. Even with 40 years of parish ministry under my belt, the ministry skills I’ve picked up through experience don’t seem to apply.

It reminds me a lot of the time I spent immersed in Costa Rica while I was in a school to learn Spanish. One day I got lost as I was walking to school, and I couldn’t find my way back. My Spanish was so limited that no one I stopped on the street could help me. Yes, this is a lot like that.

Last Sunday the number of people we had at worship was abysmal—the worst I've seen since I’ve been at Ascension (apart from traditionally low Sundays, like the week between Christmas and New Year’s). When I saw the number, it threw me into a tizzy, and I’m questioning whether I’m the right pastor to be serving this congregation. In my head, I know that the number of butts in the pews has only a little bit to do with me and a long list of other variables are at play, but in my heart, I feel like it’s basically my fault.

How can a simple number throw me into such a funk? The whole time I’ve been a pastor, I’ve pushed back against those who look at numbers as a way of determining worthiness among clergy and the congregations they serve. (Even back in seminary I wrote a paper about success vs. faithfulness in determining clergy self-worth.) Upon meeting someone new, when they find out I’m a pastor, one of the first things they’ll ask me is, “How large is your congregation?” as if that’s the most important thing to know about my value as a pastor. I’ve hated that question, even when I’ve served very large congregations. There is no correlation between the size of a congregation and its faithfulness to the mission God has called it to be about in the world. So, when I find myself being sucked into the numbers game and allowing Sunday attendance figures to throw me into a funk, my anger becomes directed toward myself and then I begin sliding into a full-blown depression. (I’m hoping to avoid that by blogging about it.)

It’s painful for me to recognize that of the six congregations I’ve served, this is the first one that is declining numerically on my watch. I’m not sure what to do about it. I can console myself by noting the individuals I’ve seen transformed during my time at Ascension, and the way the congregation has grown in its understanding of mission to those outside the walls of the congregation, while continuing to care for its aging members. I can see God at work in so many ways. And that should be enough to sustain me, but there is always the very human part of me that looks at those %&@#! numbers.

I know that churches need to change to meet the demands of a culture that is rapidly changing around us. But that’s a whole lot easier in theory than reality. It’s far easier to start a new mission church than to turn an established church around in its mission. People who have been a part of Ascension for decades are with us for a reason. Change threatens to displace them, and while I sometimes get frustrated with resistance to change, I understand it and sympathize with their fears. Aren’t people who like things just the way they are, thank you very much, also included in God’s loving embrace? There is no easy solution to this dilemma.

Any possible direction we might take in the future is impeded when we get hung up on numbers. A bold new mission may very well alienate the people who are with us, and we’ll lose them. But if we proceed the way we always have, we will continue to bleed numerically while the world around us leaves us in the dust. Not a good look for God's people--stuck in one place, dusty and bleeding. I don't know how to deal with this.

I’m just starting to see that serving in a congregation that is declining numerically may be just what I need right now. It’s a clear reminder to me that I am not in control and Ascension Lutheran Church isn’t all about me. I can’t make everybody happy. I can’t make them want to worship with us on Sunday mornings. I can’t make them give their hearts to a life of service through our community. I can’t change the culture that competes with us for attention. None of that is up to me. And maybe it’s going to take serving a congregation with declining numbers for me to trust in God.

Isn’t that the way God always works? We pastors act as if it all depends on us and we work as hard as we can to do what we think God wants. In truth, it’s what we want, and it may or may not be what God wants. There is always an opportunity when I throw my hands in the air and cry, “Nothing I try is working! I don’t know what I’m doing! God help me!” There’s an opportunity for God to step into the void and do what God has been wanting to do all along, if I’d just get out of the way.