Many years ago I foolishly drove a car at least 25,000 miles without changing the oil. I guess I figured I’d wait until the red light on the dashboard lit up, and then I’d know I needed fresh oil.
When the car became a non-starter on cold New England mornings, I got mad and took it to the mechanic. Removing the valve cover, he motioned me over and pointed out why it should be the car that was mad. Inside was something that can only be called sludge: a black, putty-like substance that made it virtually impossible for anything to work, especially in cold temperatures. The mechanic spent the better part of a day cleaning the stuff out, and the results were amazing! So was the bill.
This little incident is why my wife, Gail, keeps personal watch on our vehicles and schedules pastoral calls at Jiffy Lube every 3,000 miles.
The leader’s job is to constantly remind people that Jesus is here as we speak and work together.
Sludge buildup seems to describe many churches in need of a turnaround of some kind. It may be spiritual sludge, or organizational or structural sludge. Or program sludge. Maybe even people sludge.
Some congregations were once running nicely. But along the way the engine wasn’t tended to, and a sludgy buildup began and enlarged ever so slowly. And then came a chilly morning when the church was spiritually challenged, and nothing worked.
Others in this journal are writing about the leadership steps for cleaning out engines, er, I mean churches. But I want to focus on the theology behind turning a church around. And that draws me to those seven congregations in the Book of Revelation. Their issues and how they were addressed fascinate me.
If ever there were churches needing a turnaround, these seven were. Each had sludge buildup, some worse than others. The writer, John, proposes on behalf of Jesus some serious correctives. If his words are ignored, the congregations appear to be doomed to the junkyard.
Many churches today find themselves in a similar predicament. Hints that sludge is building up: when people start saying things like “It’s just not like what it used to be” or “There’s no spirit in our worship” or “I don’t feel like our leaders are hearing God speak.” This is what you hear when people lack a vision, when they feel the best days were twenty years ago, when they don’t seem to trust anyone, and gossip and suspicion are heard in the hallways.
Not everyone listens, not everyone agrees to sludge removal. “He who has an ear, let him hear.”
Perhaps it’s outright conflict over one issue after another, the realization that good people are slowly slipping off the edges of church life, or the growing unwillingness of folk to volunteer and be part of the action. Or the most unfortunate of situations: programs are more important than a fresh love for Jesus, and traditions are more important than life-change. Sin grows; faith cools; relationships decompose; and conversions never happen.
Which takes me back to the seven sludgy churches of Revelation. As the writer—under the directive of Christ—confronts them one by one, I think I see more similarities than differences. While each church has unique symptoms, the treatment is basically the same. Hence the theology of turnaround.
Revelation chapters 2 and 3 offer the kind of thing God says to churches with sludge buildup. And maybe these letters offer a framework, a process, for turnaround.
Authority
Each of the letters begins with the same words. “These are the words of … ” It’s reflective of the Older Testament prophets who often began with “Thus says the Lord.” It certainly gets one’s attention! Authority is speaking here.
John is saying, in effect, that the following messages have heavenly origins. They come from Christ himself, the same Christ who was mystically described in the first chapter of the Book of Revelation: “I was in the Spirit, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet, which said: ‘Write on a scroll what you see and send it to the seven churches … ‘”
There follows a remarkable description of the glorious Jesus: head and hair pure white, feet like bronze glowing in a furnace, voice like rushing waters, a mouth from which protrudes a double-edged sword. “His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.” What words! What pictures!
“When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead.” Now there’s something I’ve not seen often. Someone prostrate at the feet of the Lord and stunned into silence and awe, ready to listen, ready to obey. It’s reminiscent of the day Isaiah saw the Lord in the visionary temple.
Maybe this is where real turnarounds have to start: with leaders and people bowed low, in silence, listening to Jesus. No PowerPoint, no smoke and lasers, no organ (or guitars), no consultants. Just people listening to Jesus, who speaks with authority.
Jean Vanier, thinking about such listening, writes: “If we are to carry our cross lightly, with patience and wisdom, we have to cling to the Spirit of God. More than anyone else, we need time with our God. Otherwise, we will lose peace; we will lose the light if we do not have time to listen.”
That vision of Christ immediately leads to the words of Christ in the form of messages for those seven churches spread throughout what is now modern Turkey. Perhaps the messages are just as applicable for today as they were then.
Don’t skim these next phrases. Let them wash over you. “These are the words of … the First and the Last … the one with the double-edged sword … the Son of God whose eyes are like blazing fire … the one who holds the seven spirits … who is holy and true … the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation.” Care to question this authority?
There’s a lot of imposing fire-power here, and any congregation that does not stop in its tracks and start listening to words coming from such a source is too far gone to turn around anyway.
Perhaps the forcefulness of the words identifying the message-sender (Jesus himself) is that the churches are out of the habit of listening to anyone in authority.
G.K. Chesterton has Father Brown say, “The one spiritual disease is thinking one is quite well.” Maybe these churches all thought they were “quite well.” If true, only a word from Jesus will break through that gloss. And of course that suggests the possibility that churches in need of a turnaround need to start with a message that comes from Jesus in whatever form that’s possible. They aren’t “quite well,” but they don’t know it.
Affirmation
Each of the letters shares a second similarity. “I know your deeds … ” In most cases this leads to a positive statement. It leads to a historical sense of times in the life of each congregation when things were moving blessedly.
Each of the “deeds” (most of them anyway) is a reference to something distinctive about that congregation, something God had done in the lives of those people that made it stand out.
I’m impressed that the Son of God would in fact know these “deeds.” He is actively present and observing what is happening. Heaven is not passive or sentimental about life in these churches; it is involved and aware. I know your deeds! I’m watching! I’ve been there!
In leading a church toward turnaround, the leaders’ job is to constantly remind the people that Jesus is here, and that we are on holy ground in his presence as we speak and work together—respectfully or disrespectfully.
The deeds are broad-ranged. Again: not too fast in your reading. Hard work, perseverance, an intolerance of wickedness, suffering, faithfulness, love, a reputation for life, fidelity to God’s word. These are worthy descriptions for any congregation. And the majority of these churches enjoyed rich pasts.
I find it instructive that the Son of God remembers the former deeds of these churches. Some leaders do not. They are too quick to harangue, accuse, or ridicule history. They bemoan the current condition and forget that there were once moments of rich blessing and joy: moments to be celebrated. I’m impressed that Jesus remembers these moments and does not discard them.
I often speak of a favorite lay leader, Rolland Redmond, now with Jesus. A small-built man who never made a lot of money, Rolland would pick a strategic moment in many of our church business meetings when the congregation’s faith was faltering as it considered a new step forward.
Rolland would rise, seize the microphone and, after a dramatic pause, declare, “You people disappoint me!” Then he would move into a litany of the church’s past “deeds.” He’d recall history with all of its answers to prayer, its steps of faith and risk, its joy when God honored the willingness of the people to sacrifice. And then he would point his finger at the people and ask why they would even conceive of backing off now.
I loved him. In that moment he was Jesus saying, “I know your deeds.”
Allegations
But there is also the hard stuff in these letters about sludge. “I hold this against you … ” This phrase arises again and again. And it generates (or should generate) a holy fear. The Son of God does not take sludge buildup lightly. He now becomes the mechanic identifying the problem and the needed repair.
In most of these letters there are pointed accusations or warnings. This is no positive, encouraging pep talk. He does not speak in vague generalities, hoping people will read his mind and feel badly about his upset. No, he says what has to be said. He goes straight to the heart.
The other day I took someone I love very dearly to the hospital thinking we had an emergency on our hands. I watched the physicians and nurses run test after test. Never once did they mince words; they spoke truthfully about what they saw. While this run to the hospital turned out not to be an emergency, it was comforting to me to know that these people pulled no punches, did not try to impress or entertain or placate us. The truth was all important.
And so it is important here in these letters.
The allegations: you’ve forsaken your first love; repent! … you’re going to suffer … you’re tolerating immorality … you’re fooling with legalism and flirting with Satan’s ways … your deeds are incomplete; wake up! … you’re neither hot nor cold … you’re blind to reality, to the truth.
W.E. Sangster wrote a wonderful biography of Alexander Whyte, the Scottish preacher who—preacher-wise—was one of the very best of the best in the early 20th century. He tells about the day when an elder in Whyte’s church came to report that an American evangelist, holding meetings the night before in another part of the city, had told the crowd that one of Whyte’s closest friends was not a converted man.
Hearing this, Whyte fairly exploded and stomped about his study as he contemplated this slander of his friend. Finally, when Whyte had settled down, the elder went on.
“That is not all, Dr. Whyte,” he said. “The preacher told the people that you are not a converted man.”
Perhaps the elder expected Whyte’s reaction to this report to be even worse. But it wasn’t. Whyte retreated to his desk, covered his face in his hands and appeared to be weeping. Then, looking up, he said to the elder, “Leave me … leave me, my friend. I must examine my heart.”
I imagine an entire church in need of turnaround acting like Whyte. Instead of louder publicity, or immediate denials, I imagine a church, having heard the allegations, becoming quiet before God, hiding its face, examining its heart. Good theology there!
Agreement
The seven letters to sludgy churches share another similarity. Each moves toward the conclusion in its own way with this question: who’s listening? The implication? Not everyone listens, not everyone agrees to sludge removal.
So some letters conclude, “he who has an ear, let him hear.” Evidently not all do. “To him who overcomes and does my will … ” Apparently some do not choose to overcome and be obedient. “Be earnest and repent!” And this most beautiful of all invitations: “Behold I stand at the door and knock … whoever opens will have me for a guest.” Think of it! The Son of God as a guest.
My mind leaps quickly to Matthew 23, the moment when a very disgusted Jesus walked out of the temple and said, in effect, “I’m not coming back!” Here in Revelation, Jesus knocks to be let in. Who will agree and open the door? What church? What person? In Matthew he’s slamming the door behind him. In Revelation, he’s knocking on the door. It makes you wonder how he approaches the door of our churches today.
One is left with the sense that congregations have the option of opening the door, just as individuals do. And congregations can bolt the door shut as can individuals. In my days I’ve seen both.
Everyone has probably seen that famous painting of Christ knocking at the door. Bad religious art, some have said. But the painting offers a message nevertheless. And deep in the message, some like to point out, the artist painted no outside handle on the door. It can only be opened from the inside. Jesus will not barge his way in; he will not force turnarounds once the message has been offered.
Assurance
There is a final commonality. A promise. Assurance. For those who turn around, those freed from the sludge, “I will give the right to eat from the tree of life … I will give some of the hidden manna … a white stone with a new name on it (meaning conversion?), authority over the nations, the morning star … a name which will never be blotted from the book of life and which will be acknowledged before the Father and the angels … be made a pillar in the house of God … a seat next to Jesus near the throne of God.”
I can hardly read these phrases and keep my own eyes dry. They describe states of congregational being that are so far beyond what most of us are experiencing today. The sludge buildup keeps too many of us from the experiences described in the previous paragraph. Why do we settle for less?
I have always loved that story Stephen Covey relates in his book The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. A battleship, Covey writes, was sailing through the darkness of a foggy night. Suddenly a lookout on the bridge reported, “Light, bearing on the starboard bow.” The captain inquired as to whether or not it was steady or moving astern.
“Steady, captain” came back the answer.
The captain growled to the signalman, “Signal that ship: We are on a collision course, advise you change your course 20 degrees.”
A moment later a response came: “Advisable for you to change your course 20 degrees.” The captain, Covey writes, became furious. He spat out, “Send, ‘Change course 20 degrees. I’m a battleship.'”
Back came the signal, “I’m a lighthouse.”
Who is the authority here?
The battleship changed course. It always will when it discovers that it’s dealing with a lighthouse. So also do churches change course when they finally conclude that they are dealing with the lighthouse. And one could think of the living Christ in such a way.
And so it is when a church is filled with the sludge that accumulates when we’ve neglected proper maintenance. Change course. Or in my case many years ago, change your maintenance habits.
When your church receives something like the letters written in Revelation, however they comes and whatever form, you know you’d better turn around. And fast.
That would be good theology.
Gordon MacDonaldis editor at large of Leadership and chair of World Relief.
Copyright © 2005 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
