Measuring Success

Two dangers exist for pastors when it comes to setting standards for success. One is to shoot for the moon. The other is to throw in the towel.
— Stuart Briscoe

When I was a young businessman in England, a group of church leaders got together in a major city to plan how they could sponsor an evangelist and hold meetings.

An older gentleman, something of a self-appointed archbishop, rose to address the assembly. He gave a stirring speech decrying the idea of making plans to increase the number of believers. He ended with a rhetorical flourish: “God has called us to be faithful, not successful!”

“Amen!” responded the assembly. The group then voted to scrap the evangelistic enterprise.

They had mistakenly concluded that faithfulness and success are diametrically opposed. Unfortunately, that’s not an uncommon assumption.

The issues of size and success are inseparable for many pastors. For some bigger is better, with success defined as continued growth in membership, giving, and attendance. The larger the church, they reason, the more people reached with the gospel. These leaders exhibit the creative, pragmatic, and aggressive entrepreneurial spirit that has served American society so well.

Others equate success with “quality” ministry, in particular, effective personal care and nurture. Such leaders worry that increased growth will diminish the close-knit nature of the congregation. Their primary concern is that the sick are visited, the hurting are comforted, and that everyone knows each other’s name on Sunday morning.

Which paradigm represents “successful” ministry?

I cannot answer that question concisely. For me success, like a diamond, is multifaceted. The best I can do is show you different facets of the diamond, all of which together make up the luster of pastoral success.

The Difference Church Culture Makes

If we are going to be successful pastors, how our congregations measure success determines to some extent how we must measure it. This varies according to the community we serve.

My older son ministers in a small town of good, solid, reliable people who have been there forever (and will likely remain there forever). One measure of success there is the ability to conduct meaningful funerals. Love and personal nurture top their list of expectations for a pastor. So they measure a pastor by his willingness to visit the elderly, care for the sick and grieving, and continue the programs they’ve grown to love.

The town faces difficult economic conditions, so the leadership is naturally wary of taking risks. If a pastor can simply maintain the status quo in the face of declining populations, he will be considered a success.

My son is sensitive to that, yet he has managed over a five-year period to help them develop a more dynamic vision for the future. I categorize that as great success.

My youngest son serves in a major metropolitan area. His ministry is primarily to young professionals, and the leaders in his church are movers and shakers, successful businessmen with national and international positions. They tend to have vision, drive, and creativity. Their basic approach to ministry is, “Let’s go for it!”

They appreciate my son’s drive and initiative, and though he’s a young man, they offer him strong support. Given their expectations of a pastor, he too is experiencing success.

My situation differs from both my sons. I minister in what some term a megachurch setting. Most of my elders have joined the church since I became pastor over twenty years ago. As a result, they look to me for leadership initiative. While they function as a strong board, they tend to take their cues from my feelings on a matter. Because we work well together, I consider our relationship a success.

Faithful Despite Fears

One way I measure success is by asking myself three or four times a year, What did I do, even if I didn’t particularly want to, that I knew I should? Fulfilling one’s responsibilities is a major part of success, especially when we overcome apprehensions to do so.

Shortly after I arrived at Elmbrook Church, one of the men largely responsible for bringing me to the church was killed in an accident. Because I had already grown to love him dearly, the idea of performing his funeral was enormously intimidating. What made the situation even more difficult was that all his relatives spoke only German.

But in the providence of God, I had previously ministered in Germany and had gained some comprehension of the language. I was able to conduct some of the service in German. His family seemed deeply touched.

At the end of the day I felt incredible exhilaration. I had faced my fears and fulfilled my biblical responsibility. To me one measure of success is to do what I think is right and good for my people, regardless of my feelings.

Fulfilling Your Primary Roles

Another measure for me has to do with fulfilling my pastoral roles. Sorting through the various roles that we are expected to fulfill successfully is daunting: prophet, counselor, administrator, preacher, teacher, and on and on.

I’ve found it helpful, though, to keep my job simple. For me, Scripture describes two essential roles, which are valid regardless of the size or location of the church.

• Pastor/Teacher. Occasionally I meet pastors who face gridlock with their board. They complain that they can’t agree on anything.

I’ll often reply by asking, “Well, who is their pastor/teacher?”

“I am,” the discouraged minister will reply.

“What are you teaching them?”

They begin to see the point. God has afforded them a weekly platform to shape the thinking of their board and the church in a biblical fashion. Over a long period, sound biblical instruction, taught in a gracious spirit, should diminish disagreements and acrimony.

When I came to Elmbrook, I had neither pastoral training nor previous experience. The board members and I were starting from scratch in our ministry relationship.

“The only thing I know at the moment is a great book on the church called the Bible,” I admitted. “I will try to teach it faithfully and accurately. Let’s study it together and try to figure out what the church is supposed to be.”

I told them I would undoubtedly make mistakes and challenged them to tell me when I was in error. “All I ask,” I said, “is that you not criticize me behind my back. Come to me with your Bible in hand, and we’ll discuss the matter.” A pastor and congregation can only achieve community to the extent they are prepared to put aside preconceptions and submit every idea to this common point of appeal.

One time, a woman who was upset with me said, “Pastor, I want you to hear me out. But please, don’t drag the Bible into this thing!”

I heard her out, but eventually I had to bring the Bible into the conversation. We had no other point of reference.

• Shepherd. I measure my success by how well I am tending the flock, and especially in a larger church, by how well I am caring for the leaders who themselves are caring for others. I want to be a patient, caring pastor to my people.

One failure I most regret at Elmbrook had nothing to do with a building project or a doctrinal issue but when I failed in my role as shepherd.

One couple in the church was utterly convinced the church needed a library — immediately. While I did nothing to encourage or discourage their enthusiasm, I doubted whether that was the right time for such an undertaking. We were a new church. A library simply wasn’t at the top of my priorities.

But their passion for the project knew no bounds. Time and again the man pressed me to join his card-catalogue crusade. Each time I gently declined. “No, I can’t get involved in this.”

The man would not be dissuaded. He insisted that I take a public stand in favor of the project. The more I asked him not to push, the more pressure he exerted. My frustration rose.

One day he cornered me and would no longer take no for an answer. He demanded that I throw my support behind the idea and quit rebuffing him. I exploded: “I’m getting angry, very angry with you,” I seethed. “This has gone on for weeks. I’m worn out and fed up with your behavior.” With that, I turned and walked away in a huff.

As far as I can remember, this is the only time in my two decades at Elmbrook that I have ever spoken so harshly with a parishioner. I still ache when I recall the incident. I hardly displayed the heart of a shepherd. Yet, even as I walked away I thought, This should not be. Two brothers in Christ should never get in such an adversarial position that they completely lose their tempers.

That night I went home and began work on a sermon. Sitting with my Bible open and pen ready, I waited, but the words wouldn’t come. The spiritual wells within me were pumping only sand. I knew instinctively what was causing the blockage.

So I took out a fresh piece of paper and wrote a letter, apologizing to this man. I took pains to admit how I had acted wrongly and to specify how I felt he had acted improperly. I suggested we meet with a third deacon to iron out the matter, which we eventually did.

Looking back on the incident, it was a failure. My actions were inexcusable, and a fracture in the body of Christ had occurred. Fortunately, it was mended, the couple remained in our church, and today we enjoy superb library facilities, with individuals working on graduate degrees using our resources.

Maintaining Realism, Sustaining Hope

Two dangers exist for pastors when it comes to setting standards for success. One is to shoot for the moon. The other is to throw in the towel.

If I suffer chronic disappointment or disillusionment over my ministry, it might indicate I’ve been expecting too much, too soon. I need to ask myself the question, What’s disappointing me? Is it the failings of people in the congregation? Or is it my unrealistic expectations?

For years running, during our annual missions conference, I would go through emotional contortions because so few people seemed interested in world missions. We’d offer splendid speakers and activities all week, but relatively few people would attend, at least compared with Sunday morning attendance.

I just couldn’t understand the lack of enthusiasm. After visiting a foreign country, when I boarded a plane for the States I would inevitably turn and say to the missionaries, “Boy, I wish I could stay and help you. There’s so much to be done.” Then, when I returned home and planned a missions conference, people would stay home and watch a sitcom.

I would get so discouraged about this, my wife, Jill, would dread being around me during missions week. I would make matters worse by scolding the people who did turn out for the conference: “We’ve got to be more committed to missions!” Fortunately Jill took me aside once and said, “Stuart, don’t shout at them. They are the ones who showed up.”

Gradually, as I gained a bit more sense, I realized that some people will never seek more out of their faith than what’s in it for them. The church is comprised exclusively of sinners; unfortunately that includes me. In that sense, it’s unwise to expect too much of others or myself. I’ve resolved not to abandon such people, just as a father doesn’t abandon children who are disappointingly slow in development. Neither will I seek to make them perfect according to my time table.

On the other hand, there’s a danger of lowering our expectations too far, and thus losing hope. When I meet a stunning setback, it’s always a temptation to abandon the project.

As Elmbrook grew, our system of church government, which had worked well when we were a smaller church, became cumbersome and inefficient. So after much thought, I sat down at a typewriter and drafted a proposal to restructure our governing system. The plan flowed effortlessly onto paper, and I couldn’t wait to share it with others.

First I presented it to the staff, who wholeheartedly endorsed it. Wonderful, I thought. This is going to sail through the church.

Next step was the deacons. While the proposal did have its controversial aspects for them (the deacons would be asked to vote themselves into extinction), it seemed like an eminently rational plan they could support.

The deacons responded with passion but not the sort I had hoped for. The discussion degenerated into one of the most difficult board meetings of my entire career.

The chairman of the board, a calm and thoughtful man, said, “I have read your plan, Stuart, and it’s positively un-American. Only a Britisher could have written such a document.” And that was one of the more charitable statements made that evening! The deacons ripped the document to shreds.

But then one of the board members said, “Any jackass can kick down a barn, but it takes a craftsman to build one. Do we have any craftsmen here tonight?”

The room grew quiet. He went on: “It appears our pastor has made a genuine attempt to deal with a serious problem. Maybe some of us should do the same.”

After further discussion, the men responded as any good board would — they created a subcommittee to study the problem. But as a sign of their displeasure, they stacked the committee with those most vehemently opposed to my proposal. The smell of embalming fluid filled the room. I concluded the plan was dead.

I was leaving the next morning for seven weeks of ministry in India, so I asked the board to put one of my associates on the task force. While I was away, the only news I received on the committee’s work was a humorous note from my associate added to a letter from Jill: “P.S. We’ve decided to go with an episcopal form of church government, and you’ve been unanimously elected archbishop!”

When I returned, I learned to my amazement that the entire subcommittee, having had time to examine the alternatives, now supported the plan 100 percent. We took it to the board, and they passed it unanimously.

Intending to move slowly and involve a large number of people in the discussion, the board mapped out a twelve-month plan to present the new system to the congregation. We scheduled numerous question-and-answer sessions, small group meetings, and educational forums to familiarize the people with the proposal.

Six months into the plan, many said, “Can’t we just vote on it right now? Let’s do it.” In the end only one family voted against the proposal. They left the church but returned six months later.

I had mentally thrown in the towel on this proposal. Fortunately, by God’s grace, it rose from the canvas. One facet of success for me, then, is to maintain a realistic but hopeful attitude as I minister.

Looking for Progress

Another facet of success is progress — not perfection but progress.

For instance, success is often measured by a congregation meeting a giving goal. Yet, in most instances, the goals we set are purely arbitrary. Who is to say if a 10 percent or 30 percent increase is too much or too little? The more important question to me is, “Are people progressing in their understanding and expression of biblical stewardship and worship and service?”

The largest Thanksgiving offering we ever received was the result of a presentation by a young woman who had worked on relief trucks in Kenya. She showed her pictures and then brought out a coffee can, filling it with corn to illustrate how little each person had to eat on a daily basis. The people opened their hearts and their wallets that day, and we received a large offering for World Relief, more than we had ever previously given for such a project. It was not the large amount that impressed me but that we had made progress in our ability to give sacrificially.

Take another example: when I finished preaching one series on sexual values, various people came to staff members and said such things as, “We’re living together, please help us,” or “I’ve lost my virginity, and I’m feeling desolate.” The staff reported a sudden increase in the number of people seeking help in this area. They were responding to the prompting of God’s Spirit in their lives, and that kind of progress is a facet of pastoral success.

Diamonds Are Forever

Who is more successful: the pastor who grows a large church or the one who maintains a church in a stagnant area? The pastor who preaches to thousands or the one who lovingly cares for individuals one by one? The pastor who impatiently pushes people to deeper discipleship or the pastor who patiently accepts the shortcomings of his people?

Yes.

Faithfulness, shepherding, teaching, patience, perseverance, growth, progress — these are some of the facets of the diamond of success. Each alone won’t bring glory to God, but together they make a lustrous offering to him.