I emerged from the community center elated.
After our church had spent more than a year planning, praying, and discerning, I had finally signed the lease papers for our new meeting place. It would be a major move for our church of about 100. We were relocating from one of Sacramento's suburbs to the heart of the city. The community center was constructed in 1936 and continues to be a local treasure. As I exited I paused on the front veranda. The building sits in one of the city's iconic parks. Even in December the path was dotted with joggers.
As I started down the steps, I saw one of our parishioners. He spotted me, exited the running path, and ambled toward me. He asked what I was up to.
"I just signed our lease!" I exclaimed. "Can you believe it? This is actually happening!"
He remarked about how great a move this was for our church, but he seemed reserved, uncomfortable. Then he dropped a bombshell: "Maybe this isn't a good time to tell you this … but my family and I have decided to leave Sanctuary (our church). Actually, we are already committed to another church."
'Maybe this isn't a good time to tell you this … but my family and I have decided to leave the church.'
In a flash, my elation turned to anger. Not a good time? That was an understatement. As we continued to walk and talk, I did my best to be professional and conceal my bitterness. The conversation wound down to an awkward conclusion and he left. I stood there, suddenly feeling very alone in that bustling park. I shook my head over the absurdity of what had just taken place. Signing the lease was a huge event, and I had all of about two minutes to enjoy it.
In prayer on my way home, I came to an unsettling conclusion: this new mission was going to be contested every inch of the way. The two very different events I had just experienced would turn out to be symbolic. Punch, counterpunch.
I had no doubt, and still don't, that moving was the right decision. We sought God's will, heard from him, and followed his lead. But the transition has proven to be more wonderful and more painful than I could have imagined. We imagine that following God's leading will feel like a walk in the park. But often it feels more like a street fight. Discernment is hearing God say, "Go this way." But if he were to tell us what lay ahead, a lot of us would refuse to follow.
Unhurried but decisive
Moving had been in the air at Sanctuary before I became the pastor. The issue had been discussed but never settled. A year into my tenure, I felt God lead me to bring up the "location question" and deal with it. Aided by denominational experts, we entered an extensive discernment process. I stressed proceeding at "an unhurried but decisive pace." I preached a series of messages on seeking God's will in big decisions. We called the decision "Sanctuary's Big Adventure."
We determined that we would wait on God like the believers did in Acts 13. We fasted and prayed. We looked for how God had shaped our church. We examined what we were passionate about and what we were good at. We listened for the whispers of God. We talked about what it meant to be surrendered to God's will.
We voted in stages, and every vote was more than 90 percent in favor of moving to midtown/downtown Sacramento. This mirrored what was in my heart. I felt the diversity and creativity in midtown/downtown culture was a better fit for me personally.
After six months in the discernment process, we took a "vote of intention" that formally empowered our leadership team to find a meeting place. What we didn't know at the time was that a woman in East Sacramento was praying for a church to move into Clunie Community Center in McKinley Park, which is located on the edge of midtown. She was one of the members of a local neighborhood association that was taking over management of the Clunie Center, and they needed an anchor tenant. By the time we had negotiated our lease, we felt strongly that we were the church she had been praying for. The whole move had a providential feel to it.
Along the way, I became convinced that an "unhurried but decisive pace" was ideal for pursuing God's will in a big decision. In our excitement it was tempting to rush ahead, but the more we repeated the words "unhurried but decisive pace," the easier it was to live by them.
'This has nothing to do with you.'
On January 6, 2013, with great excitement, we held our inaugural service at Clunie. The main ballroom had so much personality it hardly needed any dressing up. After years in a cold but functional multipurpose school room, we now had old wood floors beneath our feet and period chandeliers over our heads. That Sunday morning felt alive with celebration and optimism.
Then the celebration ended.
Three days later a 42-year-old woman from our congregation died suddenly of complications from a routine surgery. We careened from elation to shock and grief. Our second Sunday in the new building, I preached on mourning. The following evening we held a memorial service.
We listened for the whispers of God. We talked about what it meant to be surrendered to God's will.
Those first days in Clunie foreshadowed how the entire first year would go. All year we bounced between euphoria and pain.
There was a lot to celebrate. We had a steady flow of visitors, and some of them stayed. We started connecting with the local community. A handcrafted metal marquee with four signs was installed on the front of the building: city councilman, neighborhood association, chamber of commerce, and our church. That sign symbolized how we wanted to be present in our new mission field.
Our missional efforts were highlighted by a December music show. We partnered with the neighborhood association and brought in more than a dozen musicians and vocalists from Sacramento's music scene to perform Christmas songs. Beyond bringing holiday cheer, the show raised funds for a local school for homeless children where we have a growing relationship.
When something wonderful like the Christmas music show happened, it introduced new discernment questions. What should we do with a new success? What might God be saying through it? The temptation is to hurry and start up a church program. But we have found that sticking to our "unhurried but decisive pace" philosophy helps guard against making rash decisions.
Alongside wonderful developments, 2013 was marked by congregational pain. Over the year we lost about 40 percent of the people we moved with, including many of our core individuals and families. Several relocated to other states and countries. Others decided Sanctuary had finally made its move, and now they were making theirs. Nearly all these folks had voted in favor of relocating. They thought Sanctuary was better off in the new location, but they chose not to participate in the mission. Many of those people left for larger churches with more robust programs. Those departures felt like storm waves relentlessly slamming into the side of our vessel. And every wave meant we had fewer hands to help steady the ship.
I remember having coffee with one of the departing parishioners. More than once she said, "This has nothing to do with you. We think you're a great pastor." I would hear these words so many times over the year, but they were cold comfort. I didn't want a pat on the back as they left us; I wanted them to stay and help us pursue the mission!
In those months, I had many 3:00 a.m. conversations with God. "I didn't mind taking the risk to follow you. But if this church fails, I don't think I can go on in ministry."
When I did sleep, it was fitful. One morning I awoke from a nightmare in which I was riding on the front of an SUV because the inside was packed with people. We were on a high mountain road, going around a hairpin turn. The vehicle suddenly plunged straight over the cliff.
During this season, the church was in almost constant crisis. Right and left, long-time members were torn from our close-knit community. Our leadership team began to feel the strain, and more than one of our meetings devolved into collective hand-wringing.
I tried to maintain a "non-anxious presence," but at times I cracked too.
Collective anxiety hampered our ability to discern God's will in several ways.
That Sunday morning felt alive with celebration and optimism. Then the celebration ended.
First, the more anxious we grew, the more we focused on saving the church rather than abiding in God's presence. This threatened to force us into bad decisions.
Second, the more desperate I grew about Sanctuary's situation, the more I wanted to attract attention to our church rather than to Jesus. "We are this. We are that. Join us!" I noticed how quickly
pastoral insecurity breeds a look-at-us syndrome. A church looking at itself is not looking at its Lord.
Third, I struggled with an ongoing temptation to scurry around the edges of the flock looking for straying sheep rather than walking ahead confidently on the trail God laid out for us. I learned that if people are going to leave, they are going to leave. A pastor is best off paying close attention to the voice of the "great Shepherd," not obsessing about the sheep.
The God of 'Neither'
Recently a particular scene from Scripture has shed new light on our ability to discern God's will. In Joshua 5, the people of Israel had crossed the Jordan and were poised to attack Jericho. The people had made all preparations and celebrated Passover. The manna God had been providing for 40 years ceased. It was as if everything stopped and even the land itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the battle to come.
One day Joshua sees a man standing in front of him with a drawn sword. No doubt reaching for his own weapon, Joshua challenged the man, "Are you for us or for our enemies?" The man replied, "Neither.
I come to you as the commander of the Lord's army" (Josh 5:13-14).
What a sobering moment. If anyone had reason to think God was on "our side," it was Joshua. He was leading God's chosen people into battle. He had heard God promise he would be with the Israelites.
"Neither?" Imagine his shock. With one word, Joshua's theological walls came tumbling down. He learned that the Almighty transcends our categories.
I'll be honest. Our leaders and I have spent a lot of time approaching God as if he is on our side. We laid everything on the line to follow him, and we sought assurances that Sanctuary would be "successful." But I wonder if this "our side" thinking can cause us to become too preoccupied with our church's interests and lose sights of God's broader kingdom. "Neither" is a word that leads us to total surrender, and surrender frees the heart to discern God's will. Otherwise we end up gilding "our side" with glistening spiritual language and worshiping it as an idol.
I noticed how quickly pastoral insecurity breeds a look-at-us syndrome. A church looking at itself is not looking at its Lord.
"Neither" opens us up to possibilities we might otherwise not entertain. At Sanctuary, one of those possibilities has been church closure. At the end of last year, we had to slash our budget by nearly a quarter. Financially speaking, it put our backs against the wall.
Ironically, dealing openly with the possible end of Sanctuary actually eased our fears. We looked into the menacing face of church closure, and we didn't break and run.
We were able to let go. Our leaders said, "If this is our final season together, we're okay with that. We just want to know we did everything God asked of us."
After we completed the budget, we were surprised at what followed: a few rays of sunshine. Somehow I felt a new sense of confidence and momentum. I asked our leaders, "Does anyone else feel that?" To a person, they had all noticed something, but no one had verbalized it. There might be a few more attenders, and giving might be a smidgen higher. But we believe the sunlight is emanating from above not below. The God of "neither" is shining on us.
New possibilities also include fresh fruit in God's kingdom. Not long after we moved from the suburb to the city, women from a recovery house about 10 blocks from the community center started walking to church on Sunday mornings. Their program doesn't require them to attend church; they just began showing up of their own accord. These women are hungry for God. We have seen God touch one heart after another as women cycle through the program and our church. Recently one of our leaders said, "If the only reason we moved to this part of town was for God to change one of these women's lives, it was worth it." The freedom of "neither" is taking hold.
In Sanctuary's recent journey, following God has meant traveling a path of surprises both wonderful and painful. Our shared commitment to ongoing discernment necessitates that we continually practice being a community of "neither" – a community surrendered to the wisdom and will of God. It requires constant vigilance because, as we have experienced, both the wonderful and the painful exert pressure to take matters into our own hands. Surrender opens us up for discernment, but even discernment is not an end in itself. The point of discerning the will of God is to do it. As Jesus said, "Blessed are those who hear the word of the Lord and obey it" (Luke 11:28).
T. David Beck is pastor of Sanctuary Covenant Church in Sacramento, California, and author of Luminous: Living the Presence and Power of Jesus (IVP, 2013).
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