When I meet someone who has been damaged by Christians, I feel terrible for them for one simple reason: those damaged by Christians need the healing found among God and God’s people. It’s the paradox of community. Community can wound and heal us.

People in the church are both the sources of our problems and the conduit for solutions.

I’ll be the first to admit that I like to joke about the fundamentalism of my youth. Part of my tendency to tear fundamentalism down has a lot to do with a child who mocks the fictional monster he used to fear under his bed. I used to live in terror of an angry God, of falling into theological error, and of a bloody apocalypse. I stressed over Bible translations, music, dancing, relationships, and every other little minutiae that fundamentalism tried to control.

It felt good to break free of its control. It felt even better to mock it. If I could mock fundamentalism, then it could no longer control me.

As much as the conservative church gave me nightmares, insecurity, and fear, it also gave me salvation, women who prayed for me, men who welcomed me into their families, and friends who accept me as I am. For all of the times that the church worked me to the bone or force-fed some ridiculous bit of theology, it also provided times of rest and a table in the presence of God.

It’s maddening really. The church can be both disease and doctor. Oftentimes different people will be involved as either disease or doctor, but the point remains that Christian community is rarely ever all good or all bad. Those who have experienced more bad than good may have simply been in an unhealthy community.

Even in churches where I ran into the most problems, I also found refuge among some of amazing, nurturing people. Somehow God can take broken situations and even broken people and still use them to bring restoration that we can’t imagine to be possible.

When I tried to return to the church three years ago, I remember those conservative women who committed to praying for me. There were people like them scattered throughout churches, even the churches that sometimes infuriated or frustrated me. I held out hope that even in the midst of frustration, salt in old wounds, or even failure that God’s people could bring the healing and restoration I needed.

If the church has ever failed or wounded you, there are pastors, elders, deacons, and lay people who understand what you’re going through. They’ve either experienced the same things or have witnessed a friend go through something similar.

Healing will often come from different people than the sources of our wounds, but make no mistake: God uses his church to heal us. We’ll find healing and hope in the church. It’s there.

Sometimes you need to wait a bit.

Sometimes you need to search for it.

Healing is present among God’s people because Jesus is among them. They carry the same spirit and authority. That’s the hope really. There is hope because no matter how hard some people try to wreck the love and power of God, he always wins.

I returned to our cozy little neighborhood this afternoon with the relief and gratitude of someone who had just escaped a zombie apocalypse. I didn’t exactly escape a brush with death, but I did face the one thing that Americans hate almost as much missing American Idol: the inconvenience of the suburbs.

While my wife worked on her final papers for grad school, I took over shopping duties and ran about thirty seven errands in the suburban strip. I had to leave my comfortable little bubble in town, venturing to the edge of civilization where engine exhaust makes baby bunnies nested outside condos weep.

It didn’t take long to get angry at people.

There was the lady who didn’t look until after she almost backed her car into me. Some guy in a sporty SUV wouldn’t let me merge onto the highway and then tailed me before roaring around me close enough that I could have lit a cigarette for his passenger.

There was traffic jammed in the parking lots. Lines in every story. People who jumped in front of me in line. People who went back to for one more thing when they should have been paying!

The chicken in the cooler started to warm up. My car started to overheat. The freckle-faced kid at Rita’s told me they didn’t have root beer water ice. The world was out to get me. Inconvenience!!!

When I travel out to the suburbs for these rare shopping trips, it’s like I’ve gone to a different nation where I don’t fit in because my car is over 10 years old and has rust. The hustle and hurry grabs me and I dutifully go along with it, as if I don’t have a choice. As people become obstacles in my way or take risks that put me in danger, I begin to seethe at them. We’re SO different…

Shifting gears from suburban shopper to urban gardener when I returned home, I set to work with clumps of dirt, compost, garden borders, and a few blackberry bushes. When I had a chance to feel like myself, I began to ask, “What just happened to me?”

We could say a lot of things about the suburban shopping experience and what we each bring to it, but today I saw that I’d been looking for reasons to separate myself from people. It’s like I craved conflict. I wanted to be in the right, and in order to tap into that, I had to direct my aggression at the people who crossed me in any way.

By dividing myself from others, I was trying to build myself up or to give myself fulfillment in some twisted way.

Conflict can be a good thing that drives a story forward. However, the right kind of conflict brings liberation and fulfillment—as in that moment at church today when our prayer ministers prayed for those going through tough times. Conflict can be misused to tear people down and it leaves neither us nor anyone else better off. All we get is a conflict buzz from fighting someone a little bit.

The Gospel restores and heals relationships. It accepts that lady in the parking lot who was careless for a moment but who may be the most caring person in her family. That guy in the SUV who almost hit me may live in fear of stopping or of facing who he truly is. So he drives a sporty SUV as fast as legally possible and never stops to ask why he’s taking sleeping pills to fall asleep each night.

The Gospel welcomes these people and many more into our Christian communities—even into my own where I secretly hope aggressive and negligent drivers aren’t allowed. There’s no place for these frivolous divisions in God’s Kingdom.

Even more so, the Gospel welcomes big government liberals and small government conservatives. The Gospel reaches people who like country, alternative rock, and maybe even jazz (does anyone “like” jazz for real?). The Gospel belongs to the hip, the straight-laced, the disheveled.

If it works right, the Gospel should ruin our neat little divisions we create, trashing every us vs. them narrative. Even my suburban angst narrative needs to go.

Rather than permitting me to perpetuate my little farce where I’m the hero who overcomes conflict to get what I want, the Gospel turns God into the hero who wants everyone and who is even willing to overcome conflict with a grumpy urban gardener to reach the people he loves.

Today’s guest post is by Jaimie Bowman:

This Mother’s Day I was asked to preach at my church, and the night before I realized that I was quite nervous. My mind rushed back to the first time I ever preached on a Sunday morning, which was when I was 22 years old.

The service was set to begin but we could not find the pastor anywhere.  The worship team was missing two members, a husband and wife, and it was glaringly obvious that they were somewhere with the pastor and that something was wrong.

After about 15 minutes, they rushed to the stage, faces beet red.  Something in my gut told me that it was about me, but I pushed those insecurities aside and preached for my life.  The fire that had been shut up in my bones for the past few years came out, and I felt empowered like never before.  I found out later there had been a heated confrontation about me preaching that morning.  Immediately after worship was finished, the husband and wife left the service and soon after decided to leave the church.

That wasn’t the first time my "womanhood" caused an issue.  When I was 15 years old, I announced to my parents that I felt called to the ministry. My dad, being a pastor of a conservative church that did not support women in ministry, did not feel the need to change his position on account of his daughter.  When I was 21, I was almost afraid to tell them I was becoming a Licensed Minister, but I did and we have never really spoken about it since.

Over the years, these kinds of obstacles did not seem to fade.  It seemed like wherever I went, minding my own business, other people felt like it was their business too.  People tried to "set me straight," discipline me, and put me back into the cocoon that I had just emerged from. I didn’t understand why they were so mad, taking up so much of their time trying to fix me.

The hardest part of the situations that I faced was that I was just trying to obey God.   Whenever I preached, I sensed the anointing of God like never before. The words came easy, like honey from my mouth, and my own gender just….never occurred to me.  I was too busy preparing for messages to notice what everyone else saw as the elephant in the room.  I wasn’t trying to usurp anyone’s authority, or demand my rights, or kick down any doors – I was just trying to be obedient.

Thankfully I had many wonderful people pour life into me during my early ministry years since I went to a Christian university that fully supported women in ministry.  Yet, outside of that safety net, I found the church to be a dangerous place.  I became one of those women who asked God, “Why did you make me a woman?” and pleaded with Him to take this calling away from me if it wasn’t from Him. 

Yet the burden only became stronger.

What surprised me the most was that the majority of the objections came from the women, not the men. It was the men who had spoken life into me, who had urged me to use my gifts, who had prayed for God to open the doors for me. The women often were the ones who seemed most upset and more intent on setting me straight.

I have learned that women can either be each other’s biggest supporters or biggest enemies.  Today it is my aim to help other women feel supported and encouraged in their calling.  I recently started the South Bay Network for Women in Ministry, inviting women from our area to come together for a time of fellowship and prayer.  Nine women joined together at my church, and there was such an excitement in the air.  Most of us had never met before, but we became fast friends. 

I heard story after story of women passionate about serving their God, yet their greatest obstacle seemed to be the church itself – the church they so desperately wanted to serve.  Some of these women were broken, feeling discouraged, overlooked, and underpaid. However, there was a silent hope in the room – a hope that, as we all come together, we can be the support one another’s needs, even when we cannot find it in our own churches.  

As women in ministry find one another, there is renewed hope.  We have a hope that as we are faithful to use our gifts and not give up, that God will be pleased.  We are not here to fight. We are not here to take over anyone’s positions. We are simply here to serve God with our gifts. 

Instead of pouring my energy into proving people wrong, I just want to pour my energy into encouraging other women in ministry, to let them know that they are not alone.

And that Mother’s Day sermon that I was so worried about?  One older gentleman came up to me and said, "Well, I have to tell you, I didn’t think it would be that good coming from a woman, but I was wrong."  I smiled.

Today’s Guest Blogger

Jaimie Bowman is a minister to whomever needs ministering to.  Married to her husband-pastor for 13 years, together they have two cute boys, ages 5 and 7.  As a speaker and writer, Jaimie longs to connect with and encourage other leaders.  Although she lives in Southern California, she does not have a tan and does not go to the beach for fun.  You can often find her drinking coffee and writing about leadership at www.jaimiebowman.com, or about motherhood at her personal blog The Wonder Years.  Jaimie is a Licensed Minister and holds a Master’s Degree in Church Leadership.

About the Women in Ministry Series

The Women in Ministry Series is a collection of guest posts that aims to:

• Provide an alternative to the women in ministry debates by telling the stories of women in ministry.
• Encourage women to explore their God-given callings.

Contributions Welcome: Contact Ed to pitch your post idea in 2-4 sentences.

You can stay updated on the latest post each week by signing up for the weekly e-mail list. (You also get a free E-book!)

Comment Policy: Everyone is welcome to leave a comment. However, this series takes for granted that women are called by God into every facet of ministry. This is not the place to debate that point and such comments will be removed.Women have been told “no” in far too many places. This is one place that is committed to saying “yes.” For more about the comment policy or submitting your own story, read here.

Next Week’s Blogger: Tammy Nischan

I used to hide my theology books and guitar upstairs. I didn’t want people I met to know I’d been to seminary or lead worship.

Writing that now sounds a bit strange. It made so much sense at the time. I’d connected serving in the church with being over-worked and exploited. For years belonging in church had been associated with “getting involved.” Sometimes “getting involved” became a higher priority for some than simply learning my name.

“Did you say your name is Fred? Hey Fred, you should join our men’s group. They’re going to set up a huge church event next Saturday. You should serve with them!”

I know many have had conversations like this. If these people had learned I had a seminary degree, they would have handcuffed me to the pulpit.

“You can preach and lead worship and we don’t have to pay you???”

I’d grown so weary of those types of conversations where desperate volunteers just tried to plug another body into a struggling church ministry. There were so many things that needed to be discussed, but I wasn’t the guy to bring it all up. When I started to return to church, I just wanted to be left alone for a season. I wanted to maintain a happy anonymity while I sorted out my place.

Since those days of hiding books and musical instruments, I’ve stopped defining myself and my place in the church by what I do in my community. I belong based on my relationships, and I serve because those relationships define my place in my church communities.

I used to feel a lot of pressure to get involved in church. If I didn’t serve, I was just a lazy drain on the church. I didn’t want to be a “consumer Christian.”

My pastor often speaks of seasons in life. We go through seasons in our communities, in our families, and in our personal lives. I passed through a season of healing and reorienting to church community. During that season, it would have been foolish for me to serve. I didn’t need to just get involved. I needed to be healed and to learn how to thrive in the church again without becoming a critical voice.

Now that I have that perspective, I feel better able to get involved and to manage my church involvement. I don’t need to serve just like everyone else. We may be in different seasons.

In two months we’ll have a baby. That’s going to change a lot of stuff for a season. My wife being in graduate school has already changed how we think of our time for this season. My helter skelter writing life imposes limits on us for a season as well.

I want to always give something to my community, but sometimes the push to get involved in a bunch of stuff just wears us out. The guilt can be crushing. And that’s the hard part about belonging to a community. We’re sometimes trapped in between two overcorrections.

We’re either consumer Christians or we base our sense of community on how much we serve.

Sometimes we need to stop all of the work just to get the basics right. If a church can’t accept us as a family, then there’s something terribly wrong. If our church doesn’t treat us like a family, they’ll fail us at one time or in one way or another. That’s not a pleasant thing to write, but it’s true.

If your family is only based on whether you pitch in and help, you’re going to have a lot of hurt former family members. Think of teenagers who just want to slump and play video games or text or whatever teenagers do these days. They may check out from family activities for a season, but they are still members of the family.

When you can belong to a church family without conditions or strings, then you can serve with that family free from guilt or obligation. You will be free to serve others with a joy that can weather the bleakest of storms. Joyfully serving others happens when you know you belong.

When I started attending church, it served as a  lifeline for me. I found friends. I met people who believed the same things I’d been processing from the Bible. It didn’t take long for me to start showing up to volunteer.

I didn’t need much convincing. Church was where I made all of my friends, so if they were doing something at the church, I’d show up there as well. Along the way, I made a crucial mistake. I began to equate work in the church building with serving God.

I’ve served just about everywhere in the church, and it’s clear to me that a building does not make something holy.

That’s such a no brainer in so many ways, but it’s an easy trap to fall into. I want to believe that I’m doing something big and significant, and oftentimes I look to the church to provide that big, significant thing.

Sometimes I tried to slap a churchy veneer onto stuff I was doing at church and label it as a “ministry.” In reality, I was just feeding the internal church system, solidifying my place in my community.

The problem with serving the church system is that it’s not necessarily the same as serving other people or God’s Kingdom. That’s what’s so maddening about this thing called ministry. It’s confusing to the point that we can hardly be sure we’re talking about the same thing sometimes.

So far as I can tell, ministry is all about drawing from God’s love and power in our lives in order to serve others—becoming the incarnation of Jesus in our churches and wider communities. There were plenty of times when I just took on “tasks” at the church and tried to use them as my badges for belonging.

Just as we can treat church membership as a kind of employment, we can also use our “ministries” as our measures for belonging to a community. If you have a “job,” then you belong.

It only gets more maddening to talk about ministry because we can also fill our schedules with “ministry” that is all focused on doing stuff inside of our church buildings. While most of these ministries are good things, we face a struggle to balance the good with the best.

I’ve noticed over the years that serving primarily within the church creates these fiefdoms where different folks become really possessive—like employees at a job. The tables have to be put back a certain way. The kitchen needs to be put into a particular order. The chairs in the sanctuary have to be angled properly. The pastor preached too long. The song list didn’t have enough hymns. The list goes on.

I list many of these items because I’ve thought or said some of them at one point or another. The best thing for me was to give away my time to people outside of the church, to stop consuming my ministry time with “in-reach.”

I could be wrong, but the more I served in the church, the more control I wanted to exercise over the church system and programs. There are healthy ways to serve inside of the church, but the thing about serving others outside of the church is that it takes your focus away from all of the minutiae of the church organization. It’s a job relocation program.

Serving those outside of the church is also healthy because Christians are “sent” people. Jesus wanted us to go out. If our churches are imploding over factions and fights over the service format, sports leagues, bake sales, Sunday school classes, or whatever else, perhaps it’s time to ask how much time we’re investing in the people outside of our churches.

I’ve heard stories about families that show up early to set up chairs for church. They pray over the chairs as they set them up. That is a ministry.

I’ve also become very busy and consumed with all that I have to do in the church, failing to think twice about whether I was serving God, serving others, or just trying to fit in.

When we talk about getting involved in a ministry at church, motivations are a murky territory. When we belong to a Christian community, it’s natural to pitch in and serve others. However, before jumping at a ministry opening, I suggest asking a few questions first:

1. Am I basing my belonging on having a job?

2. Do I sense a calling to use my God-given gifts in this way?

3. Is God calling me to serve others outside of the church?

I hope and pray that our churches will have all of the help they need to thrive internally and as groups of sent believers. We need both. When all we have is a church organization to work in and to “protect,” community can crumble. The more time we spend working together to both support one another and to help those outside of our community, I suspect we’ll enjoy a lot more health.

I hope that I’ll never again fight for control of a church ministry or system. There’s too much to do in our community. There are too many people in my church who need help.

Before I invest in a “task,” I hope I can first commit to the people who I’ll be serving. A task is a lonely thing to serve. When I serve people, I find the life of God.

“I know what your problem is,” a pastor from my seminary said. A barely perceptible smirk crept across his face. He knew he had me pegged, but I tried to hide behind my plate of hash browns and lukewarm coffee. I didn’t have a problem.

“You’re church damaged,” he said, unaware of my internal dialogue.

That struck me as ridiculous. I may have been church frustrated, but I didn’t see how I could be church damaged. From my perspective back then, the church was just screwed up, burning out pastors and people for the sake of programs.

Who had the damage? Not me pal. The church was the one with the problems.

Looking back on that conversation, I can see that I confused “damage” with something negative, a flaw in my personality. Damage itself wasn’t wrong. Damage just happens.

Damage can lead to conflict and alienation from one another.

Damage is behind those moments when we lash out at others or rant about church on our blogs.

Damage can even obscure our need for healing, as we focus on the pain and the past without considering there can be a future where that pain is healed.

I wasn’t ready to listen to that pastor who diagnosed me with church damage, but he was ready to listen to me. That made all of the difference. He didn’t really care about what I had to say.

He cared about me and my healing. If he cared about what I said, he would have heard another angry 20-something who is frustrated by the church, and he would have defended the church. When he used my words to understand where I was coming from, he could see the deeper story behind my frustrations.

This pastor helped me take my first step back into Christian community. He helped me recognize that my problem wasn’t “the church” per se. My problem was the damage that church had caused in me.

I couldn’t necessarily change the systems that had used me up, let me down, and left me feeling lost. However, I could bring the damage of my past to God and let him heal me. I could become a repaired person who no longer damages others.

My hash browns and coffee failed to guard me from that pastor’s penetrating stare. He looked right through me, but he wasn’t acting arrogant. He had the confidence of a doctor who knew his trade.

For that season, I remained the patient who didn’t trust doctors, though I couldn’t shake the power of his diagnosis in the months that followed. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that you can find healing in the previous source of your pain.

If I wanted to tell the story of how God led me into my writing ministry, I may need to work on being completely honest, but I certainly wouldn’t need to be all that brave. My story is my own to share, and at least in the Christian community, I should have nothing to fear—nothing that should require bravery.

Ah, but once we talk about a woman’s ministry story, that is another matter altogether.

When I started the Women in Ministry Series, I wanted to create a safe place for women to share their stories. So far, it has worked. Women have filled every day since the start of January 2012, and we’re booked just about through October.

Women want to talk about how God has called them into ministry.

I receive e-mails every week about this series and see many tweets about it. Over the past four months, a certain word has started to really bother me: brave. People say that women are brave to tell their stories and that I’m brave to share them. While I don’t disagree that these women are brave, I’m bothered that they must be brave in this particular circumstance.

Why must women be brave just to talk about God’s call for their lives if they’re just telling the truth?

Why do women fear telling the truth about the ways the church has treated them?

I saw a few of those reasons last week when a female minister wrote a guest post on a top blog about some of the ways she’d like to see the church change in its approach to women. So far as I could tell, she didn’t suggest anything all that radical, but a few of the commenters resorted to slander, name-calling, and other mean-spirited tactics.

These are the kinds of comments that I work really hard to avoid at the Women in Ministry Series. They’re the reason why I have a very clear comment policy that aims to keep away from endless debates, let alone name-calling and personal attacks.

I know that many women hold their breath before posting anything that suggests that perhaps the church may be wrong about a few things or that perhaps women have an equal calling with men. They don’t necessarily fear disagreement. They fear the attacks. They fear the bullies.

The bullies are the reason why women need to be brave in order to simply tell their stories.

I’m not out to defend someone who writes an angry or critical story. There are poor ways to tell the truth. However, in the case of the Women in Ministry Series, women are really just trying to tell the truth, and sometimes the truth paints certain men in a bad light. Telling the truth does that sometimes.

One of the main tactics used by a bully is to blame the women for taking offense. Just by telling the truth they are immediately placed in the wrong because they are trying to change the status quo—and bullies like to retain control of the status quo. In the bully’s mind, there is no “right” way for a woman to tell her story. She just needs to ask God to forgive her for not seeing things the same way as the bully.

The world of online conversation is a murky one where there are few rules, but I’d like to suggest a few.

For one, a woman who desires to respectfully tell her story with integrity should have nothing to fear. She shouldn’t have to muster up her courage to talk about a ministry calling or anything else, much like I don’t have to worry about the consequences of my own ministry stories calling down condemnation and name-calling from fellow Christians. Disagreements will come, and we should not fear them. I’m talking about the vitriol, name-calling, and anger that comes from bullies.

As to another step, I’d like to suggest that we stand up to bullies. I have three suggestions for doing this:

Bullies need grace too.

Hope for the best and tell the bullies how their remarks are being perceived. Offer them a chance to back peddle and to apologize. I’ve done this a few times and have been amazed on several occasions at how an online bully turns out to be a nice person once he realizes there are real people behind the hyperlinks and pictures of comment forms.

Bullies must be stopped.

Sometimes reaching out to a bully doesn’t work. They are either too angry, fearful, or controlling to respond to kind words and hope. In that case, every blog owner has a right to delete bullies. The internet makes it possible for everyone to set up his/her own website, Facebook page, and Twitter account.

Andrew Jones is one of the early Christian bloggers I first read, and he often spoke of his blog in terms of hospitality—a front porch where public conversations could be joined by anyone passing by. I’ve found that a helpful way to think of websites and bullies. I would never let a bully ruin a conversation among neighbors on my front porch, and I have no tolerance for bullies who want to control conversations by attacking others.

By the same token, if we reach out to bullies in person and they refuse to stop attacking others verbally, they need to understand that they themselves have created conditions where community with them cannot happen.

Make the right mistakes.

The problem here is that I’m also asserting control over bullies. Can I become a bully in the process? That is the risk. The difference is that website owners and Christians in general need to create space for discussion and healthy debate. The point isn’t silencing all dissent—only the bullies. How can we create the best environments for conversations?

I have really wrestled with the comment policy at the women in ministry series, but I think closing the comments to theology debates has saved the series from becoming just another dumping ground for the same debates that really smart theologians can’t even sort out. In the process, many women have told me that the safety of my comment policy makes it possible for them to contribute to the conversation.

I’m sure I’ve made mistakes with moderating comments on my blog, but I think those are the right kinds of mistakes: mistakes made on behalf of creating more conversation among those who have feared the reactions of bullies. If bullies know they won’t be tolerated, they don’t bother showing up, and that has made a big difference.

A Final Question for Men

I am well aware that the Women in Ministry Series is primarily read by women. That’s a shame. The e-mail list has a few men. I’m not even sure if I can count the comments by men on one hand. That makes me so sad. Men are really missing out on stories they need to read. These stories are happening in their churches every day.

In addition, by ignoring this series, men are avoiding a really important question they need to consider:

Men, why are women afraid to tell their stories?

I’m asking men, “Are you willing to explore whether you’ve played have a part in creating an atmosphere where it takes courage for women to just speak their minds?”

I would not tolerate any group of people trying to silence my wife and to strike fear into her. In the family of God, we need to ask why women are afraid and whether us men have the guts to do something about it.

We can stand up to bullies both online and in person so that women have nothing to fear in the church. I applaud women who are brave, but I also long to see a day when they can use their bravery in places other than among their Christian family.

If we truly serve a God who drives out fear with his perfect love, why do women need bravery in order to speak the truth among God’s people?

“Stop whining and complaining!” an older Christian told me in a note. “If you don’t like your church, go out and plant one. Join a ministry. Just stop complaining.”

There are two guys that I don’t want to be.

• Guy A: I hate church! It sucks. Who wants to bother with all of the junk in church?
• Guy B: Church is fine just how it is. Get involved and stop complaining.

I used to be Guy A, and I got reprimanded once by Guy B.

Neither guys are all that helpful. One is either too damaged or cynical to offer anything constructive. The other is too unwilling to listen to help anyone out.

There is a lot of room for listening, diversity of opinions, and room for growth in our congregations today. For all of the griping I’ve heard about the church, I wonder how much of it is the result of leaders failing to communicate or to listen. I also wonder if the gripers ever thought of doing anything beyond griping—as in, putting their ideas into practice rather than just complaining.

When I was a cynical, whining, complaining griper, two things were simultaneously true:

1. I had some legitimate grievances.
2. I was dealing with them in unhealthy ways.

When that older Christian told me to stop whining, he was right in part, but I had some really legit complaints. For instance…

Prior to his suggestion that I join a ministry, I had tried very hard to help a group of older men plan an outreach for the young adults in our town. An adjunct professor from my seminary invited me along since I was the closest member of the target audience for the outreach. The guys who met together had tons of ideas, and the meetings went something like this:

• The strongest personalities told us what they thought we should do.
• A few weaklings such as myself suggested their ideas may not be very practical.
• The strongest guys said, “Hmmm. That’s interesting.”
• Then the strongest guys told us that we’re going to do what they originally thought we should do.

I don’t know if my ideas would have actually worked, but whatever they planned never happened. They wanted something big and flashy with music, coffee, and an atmosphere of awesomeness. I suggested that maybe a community service project would be a better way to connect and live our faith a bit.

Was I ignored? Pretty much. That’s frustrating. I know lots of churches that cater to one generation in particular and then they don’t want to hear from the younger generations who may have great ideas sometimes.

One of the most fascinating things for me has been seeing how some churches actually evolve. I’ve watched one church bring some exceptional young adults onto their staff and these men and women have helped change the church culture, addressing the different ways each generation approaches God, ministry, and learning.

When a group of people in a community is overlooked, we need to ask whether they’ve been given any outlets for their frustrations or whether they’re just left to fester.

As I look back at my issues with worship music, evangelism, and Bible teaching in some churches, I think a significant group of people desired to connect with God in a way that felt familiar. There’s nothing wrong with that desire. We run into conflict when the group in control refuses to listen and then the group in the minority responds with attacks and griping.

Who “shot” first in these cases? While a lot of times it’s customary to focus on the “gripers” who supposedly stirred up trouble in the first place, the reality is that church conflict is usually the result of two parties in the wrong.

Many times the conflicts we see in the church can be averted through better communication and listening. I used to work on a church staff and then volunteered in communications, and I always had to work really hard to with the pastors to make sure we did both well.

One time a guy came to me with this fundraising idea that he thought couldn’t fail. In that case we listened to him and had to say “no” to his idea for a number of logistical reasons he hadn’t considered. I remember how disappointed he was, but I hope he could at least go away knowing that we’d listened and taken him seriously. Sometimes we failed to do that, and that’s where our problems came.

I don’t have easy answers for resolving church conflict, but I think two practices will help:

• Church leaders need to constantly review the effectiveness of their listening and communication. Sometimes asking someone who isn’t a church insider can give you the best insights into the pitfalls of your communication.
• Church attendees who feel ignored need to avoid griping at all costs. Sometimes a church simply won’t listen. Sometimes you have a legit bone to pick. Sometimes you need to let it go. It’s never easy or rarely black and white.

I’ve been the griper on plenty of occasions. I hope I’ll never do that to my leaders again. They deserve my best ideas delivered in grace and humility.

I don’t like sermons. I blame Sesame Street and video games for my short attention span. I blame hockey for teaching me to love speed and action. I blame my parents who gave me the genetic trait that resists stationary, sequential learning—like Math.

If a sermon was a practical, 10 minute exposition of scripture, I’d be happy. In fact, the homily, which is sermon-lite for Catholics and Episcopals, was the part of the liturgy that I used to enjoy the most. The reverend at this Episcopal church in Vermont that we visited a few Sundays wandered up and down the aisle like a lost puppy, sharing a few things that he must have jammed onto a sticky note the night before. If he only had better content, it would have been perfect.

The first time I attended a Baptist church where the people really belted out the hymns, I stood in wonder at the beauty of their joy and energy. When the pastor hit the 45 minute mark of his sermon, I slumped in boredom. That has not changed for me—though today I bring “toys” to church, as in, my journal.

I honestly think I went to seminary, in part, because I realized that if the sermon had to be 45 minutes, I should be the guy walking around a bit and doing something. Who wants to listen to 45 minutes of information and anecdotes? Not me. If Jesus wanted a 45 minute lecture, I wanted to be the guy sharing it.

For all of my talk about disliking sermons, I can also point to a few sermons that were particularly life-changing. I don’t doubt the power of biblical teaching among God’s people. And I don’t begrudge it to those who feel the need for it in certain contexts.

I think the problem with sermons is the way they’ve become so standardized and laden with expectations we attach to them. I suspect the nature of the sermon will also change depending on what kind of church we attend.

People expect a sermon to teach biblical truth. Many pastors preach that way. However, I think that’s too narrow a goal for a sermon. We can accomplish these ends much more efficiently and completely by picking up a commentary. Sermons that only teach, whether for 15 or 45 minutes, are missing a golden opportunity.

Sermons are a chance for pastors to bring their people on the same page, to rally them around the things God is speaking to their community through scripture. Communicating a message like that could take 10 minutes or 60 minutes.

I see pastors straining themselves, taking hours to write sermons. I’ve heard lots of sermons in many, many churches, and let’s face it: we’ve probably heard more average to below average sermons than we’ve heard good to excellent ones. We place a ton of pressure on our pastors to knock it out of the park each Sunday, and that is a burden no one woman or man should bear.

I’m not so much opposed to the sermon as I’m opposed to its narrow role in the church and the way it strains many pastors. I know some pastors who specialize in sermons, and for them, it makes sense to emphasize the role of a sermon. However, even in that case, does the pastor draw a crowd more for the sermon than for the community? Is that even healthy?

As for the pastors who don’t specialize in writing sermons, what will we do with them? Are they able to lead according to their gifts without preaching? Will we accept them in our communities?

If a congregation is relying on a pastor to draw a crowd with her sermon or to open the Bible for them with his Bible-knowledge-rich sermon, are we possibly relying too much on one person for 45 minutes each week? It’s my role as a member of the congregation to invite people to our community. It’s my role as a follower of Jesus to study the scriptures. More than anything else, I need a pastor to point me in the right direction, to help me see the big picture of the Kingdom and our church’s role.

Pastors are often placed under way too much pressure each Sunday. The sermon is treated as the climax of the entire service, and if the sermon isn’t amazing, everyone goes home wondering why the pastor can’t be more like Charles Stanley or Rob Bell or T. D. Jakes.

This is where our liturgical friends have something to teach free-wheeling evangelicals like myself who make up our worship services on Friday afternoon, rather than following a tradition passed down for nearly 2,000 years that places communion at the end of each and every worship gathering.

I want my pastors to know they can preach for 10 or 60 minutes. I want my pastors to know they don’t have to attract a crowd or take on the burden of teaching me everything I need to know about the Bible. They just need to hear what God wants them to say, say it, and then point us to the body and blood of Jesus as we celebrate communion together.

Our pastors can’t always heal us with their words. That’s not a fault or a problem. That’s just a reality. The source of our healing talked about bread and wine, the symbols of a life broken and bled in order to conquer sin and death.

Sermons can be long or short. That doesn’t really matter. What matters is where we’re looking for our life. Sunday morning does not have to always rise and fall on the power of the sermon. No person should have that kind of burden. No Christian should rely on so flimsy a form. Nothing we can say can ever trump the power of these words, “This is my body, broken for you.” “This is my blood… poured out for you.”

That is a sermon we need to hear every Sunday.

When we lived in Connecticut, I created a new concept for my ride to church. With Christian music blaring, I called it worship pre-gaming.

I’ve only been to one pre-game party before a football. We basically ate a lot of cheeseburgers and got sick playing football while the adults drank a lot of beer and got sick. We all had an awesome time at the football game… sort of.

My lame experience aside, pre-gaming is supposed to get fans in the mindset for a game. Without laboring my point too much, I tried to pre-game before going to church, getting my mind in the right place. This wasn’t about showing up with my happy face in place. This was about rethinking the role of church.

I used to really stress about the details of a worship service—song choice, hand clapping, and whatever else I could nit-pick. By the time I returned to church after a seven year hiatus, I began to see the worship service as sacred space that could set the tone for the rest of my week. I let go of the form and zeroed in on the function.

So I’d crank up the volume, roll down the windows, and zip through the wilds of Mansfield and cautiously cruze through the UConn campus on my way to church with a few David Crowder songs pumping. I wanted to be in the zone, already praising God before I shuffled to my end seat in a middle row.

If I arrived early, even better. Humming my pre-game tunes, I’d jot down whatever came to mind, letting my mind roam in God’s presence.

Worship pre-gaming did not seal me off from my own stupidity, but it did help me to find new value in church and to take steps in the right direction.

I’m a bit of a workaholic. Being self-employed, it’s tempting to burn the candle on both ends, especially for one of my many book projects. Going to church throws me into an environment where I need to worship or else—as in, or else make myself miserable.

As I settled into my pre-game routine—I am nothing if not a creature of habit—I began to look forward to the worship songs, any time for quiet reflection, and then communion. God had a ready-made conduit to speak to me through his people and through the stillness of being in a church with my phone safely tucked away in the car and my computer languishing back at our apartment.

Those lessons about sacred space on Sunday transferred into my life at home. Healing started to happen in church. I started to find the life of God in community and in my own prayer time. I received prayer at small group.

Worshipping with Christian community reshaped each week, pointing me in new directions. We need to reclaim all of our time and space as sacred, but church is like a base camp that sends us off into our weeks on the right course.