The most striking thing about highly effective leaders is how little they have in common. What one swears by, another warns against. But one trait stands out: the willingness to risk.
— Larry Osborne
Rich had just taken the pastorate of one of the largest churches in his denomination. He had experienced tremendous success in his previous church, a church plant that had grown to over 2,000 under his innovative, risk-taking style of leadership. Rich entered his new ministry assuming a long and bright future.
To his dismay, he found that a few arbitrary decisions, small mistakes in judgment, and the launching of a couple of pet projects took on epic proportions. Things that had been ignored in Memphis suddenly became a cause for impeachment in Minnesota.
Baffled, he tried to wrestle more and more control from his opponents. But instead of gaining more authority and freedom, he gained only more enemies. Within eighteen months he resigned, a crushed and confused pastor, wondering how someone who had been hailed as an innovative, risk-taking leader in one setting could be written off as an incompetent, wild-eyed gambler in another.
What is it that causes a leader to succeed in one setting and fail in another? More to the point, what makes a leader great?
For years I’ve studied leaders and their ministries hoping to get answers. I’ve focused on the highly successful, looking for their secrets, which I could apply to my own life and ministry. But what I’ve found has surprised me. Instead of secrets, principles, and patterns that guarantee success, I’ve found amazing diversity. While there are certainly some common threads to be found, the most striking thing about highly effective leaders is how little they have in common. What one swears by, another warns against.
Still, one trait stands out: the willingness to risk. Highly successful leaders ignore conventional wisdom and take chances. Their stories inevitably include a defining moment or key decision when they took a significant risk and thereby experienced a breakthrough.
But herein lies the rub. My study of leaders and ministries has also focused on another group — those who have failed miserably — and among them I’ve also found a common trait: the willingness to risk. They too ignore conventional wisdom, go against the odds. But in their cases, the results were tragic, not triumphant.
So what gives? What separates a successful risk taker from a bankrupt gambler?
I’ve come to believe it’s the ability to distinguish between a prudent risk and a wild-eyed gamble. To increase my ability to discern the difference, I’ve learned to ask myself five key questions before taking ministry out on a limb.
Who Else Has Done It?
My first question is always “Who else has been there?”
Solomon said, “There’s nothing new under the sun,” and I believe him. So before I set out on a risky venture, I’ve learned to search out those who’ve already gone down that path or a similar one.
By asking what went well and what went wrong, I can usually pinpoint where the dangers lie, which takes much of the risk out of a risky situation.
A couple of years ago, without warning, our church, which had been renting facilities from another church, lost its lease. We were forced into an emergency building program, with no lead time and no money. Knowing that time and money are two vital ingredients to a successful program and that any building program is risky in its own right, I was, to say the least, concerned.
Due to our short time frame, purchasing land and building a traditional facility from scratch was not an option. So we hunted for an empty shopping center, industrial building, or warehouse capable of being converted into a church. In addition, we wanted one large enough to allow for future growth.
Finally we found a facility that might work. It was large enough, had adequate parking, and fell within an area zoned for church use. It was also the only facility within fifteen miles to meet those criteria.
Still, we had no margin for error. It would so stretch our finances that even the slightest time delay or cost overrun would break us. I wondered if I shouldn’t go for a smaller place, of which there were a number.
Before making any recommendations to the congregation, I decided to talk to other pastors who had already turned a retail or industrial site into a church. To my surprise, I heard the same thing over and over. Their delay and cost overruns could be traced to one of three areas:
1. Architectural plans. To save money, many had used an in-house architect or draftsman to draw up their plans. Inexperience in designing large-occupancy buildings led to long delays as they redrew the plans numerous times to comply with the stricter building codes governing large-occupancy buildings.
2. City approval. I also had heard stories aplenty about the horrors of trying to gain a zoning change or municipal approval to build. One church leader told of waiting two years before receiving a final go-ahead. But in each case where the process had snarled, I found the church had depended upon an inexperienced lay leader or staff member to navigate the bureaucratic maze. The result was a series of wrong turns and dead ends before finally arriving at their destination.
3. Volunteer labor. Everywhere I heard the same story. Many volunteered to help; few actually showed up. Churches depending heavily on volunteer labor spoke of saving money but losing time. In one case, the construction took a year longer than anticipated.
I was amazed how similar the stories were. Once I heard their stories, however, I took heart. I now knew where the predictable risks lay, which meant we could devise a plan to minimize them.
I recommended to the board and church that we go for it. We spent a little more money on our architect, hired a professional consultant to guide us through the bureaucratic maze, and counted on little if any help from volunteers.
The result was a new facility — finished on time and under budget — capable of handling not only the people we already had but a lot of new folks as well.
How Bad Can It Get?
Another question I’ve learned to ask before taking a significant risk is “What’s the worst thing that can happen here?” and “Can I live with it?”
If I can’t live with it, it’s seldom a risk worth taking.
Both my theology and life taught me long ago that whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. It has something to do with what the Bible calls the Fall and the world calls Murphy’s Law. By either name it’s ignored at great peril.
That was Nick’s mistake. Four years after planting a new church, he felt he was at a dead end. No matter what he tried, the church couldn’t break the two-hundred barrier. Every growth spurt was followed by an exodus of folks who were upset over some minor issue or were moving out of the area.
To Nick, the major culprit was an inadequate facility. Lacking the people and money to purchase their own site, they had to rent a run-down community hall. From the lingering smell of stale beer to the peeling paint and dim lighting, the facility repelled rather than attracted new people.
When the pastor of a small struggling church in the area suggested the two churches merge, Nick was intrigued. Though they represented different denominations, the differences were minor, centered on polity, not doctrine. In addition, the other church had a facility and one hundred members. To Nick, it looked like a risk worth taking. If all went well, it would solve his two greatest problems: the lack of a permanent facility and the two-hundred barrier.
So he pushed ahead, lobbying his board and congregation until they finally agreed to the merger.
But Nick made a critical mistake. He was so focused on the potential benefits, he failed to seriously consider what might go wrong. To him, trusting God meant focusing only on the upside. Worst case scenarios were an exercise for those who lacked faith.
But there are drawbacks. Nick failed to realize successful mergers are rare. More often it means one church will get swallowed by the other, and Nick hadn’t asked himself if he could accept being swallowed.
A year later that’s exactly what happened. Nick found himself functioning more and more as an assistant to the other pastor. His influence with the board and congregation waned. Finally, feeling bitter and betrayed, he resigned.
The worst thing that could happen had happened, and he couldn’t live with it. He now looks back on the good old days when he pastored a church of less than two hundred in a run-down, rented, community hall.
There’s another advantage to asking, “What can go wrong, and can I live with it?” Sometimes it helps me realize a risk is worth taking but not just yet.
That’s what happened when we changed our worship style. When I first came to the church, we were a preaching station. Our services consisted of song, commercial, song, commercial, and then a forty-five minute sermon. From the beginning I felt if we were going to reach our community, we needed to make worship a higher priority; we also needed to depend less upon traditional hymns and more on contemporary musical styles.
There was only one problem. Our 120 people liked it as it was. That’s why they came. Only a few wanted to change.
At that point, it would have been foolish to risk a sudden, major shift in worship style. While the upside of such a change was the possibility of reaching more people, the downside was too much to bear: a potential mass exodus at a time when we barely had enough people to pay the bills and keep the place open.
So I waited, making only incremental changes. Four years later we finally reached critical mass. We had enough people in the pews; losing a few wouldn’t kill us. And the ones most likely to go were long-time Christians who could quickly find another church with music more to their liking. More importantly, those likely to go were doing little to help us reach the community. Few of them had brought anyone to church other than an out-of-town relative or a friend who was already a Christian.
So we made the change. We did lose some people. But it was a loss we could live with it. And in our case, we not only lived with it, we flourished.
Can I Try It on for Size?
A third question I ask myself before taking a risk is “Can I give it a trial run?”
Obviously that’s not always feasible, as when hiring staff or building a facility. But I’ve found many risky decisions (or at least parts of decisions) can be tried on for size before I commit to them.
A trial run can save heartache. It can turn a stupid decision into nothing more than a popped trial balloon, blunting the impact of what would otherwise be a major failure.
Len was a high energy, do-it-right-now type. That trait served him well as the new pastor of a small suburban church. Under his leadership it grew from 75 to nearly 600 in four years. But then the growth stopped.
Len had a hard time adjusting. He felt more and more like a failure. Convinced God had more growth in store for the church, he read books and attended conferences about spurring a church on to greater heights. When Len came home from one of those conferences, he was full of enthusiasm and vision for the future. “The key” was a new approach to ministry that had produced phenomenal results at the church hosting the conference.
Len put on a full-court press with his board. The board agreed to follow his lead, and within weeks Len embraced a new preaching style, an aggressive evangelistic outreach program, and a more authoritarian approach to leadership. Len knew the changes would meet some resistance, but he felt sure an influx of new believers would more than make up for the loss of a few opponents.
He was wrong. One year later, attendance logged in at 300. What had gone wrong?
An unforeseen cultural clash. Len was emulating a ministry located in a predominantly blue-collar community where a forty-hour workweek was the norm, leaving many members with significant free time for a high-commitment, volunteer ministry. In addition, they were open and responsive to an authoritarian style of leadership.
Len’s church was located in an upper-class neighborhood. His parishioners were highly educated, well-compensated professionals who worked fifty to seventy hours a week. They rebelled at even a hint of strong-armed leadership.
By the time Len realized what was going on, it was too late. Even after he shelved new programs and emphases, he couldn’t bring back those who had left.
Len’s story contrasts sharply with another church and pastor I know. There too, the church had plateaued, leading to a search for new ways to get things moving again.
That pastor also flew home from a week-long conference, ecstatic about a new ministry model. He, too, gathered his board and began to sell them on his new vision. But instead of putting forward his suggested changes as permanent, he suggested a trial period. So, for six months, one Sunday a month, the church experimented with “seeker” services.
It soon became obvious the changes wouldn’t turn the church around. While no one left over the changes, only the pastor and a few key leaders were excited about the new direction.
They decided to scrap the idea. Although the leaders were discouraged over their failed experiment, it didn’t sink the church.
How Much Rope Do I Have?
A fourth question I ask is “How much room do I have for error?”
When I came to North Coast, I failed to ask this question and nearly hung myself.
I followed a much-loved founding pastor. The tight-knit congregation had not yet finished the grieving process when I arrived and began making changes. Because the changes were small, I figured the risks were minimal.
They weren’t. Inconsequential changes in the worship service, bulletin, and church calendar created an uproar. One family said they were leaving because the service no longer ended with a closing hymn. Another because I failed to schedule the annual New Year’s Eve party. Still another asked where I intended to send my kids to school and then left when I gave the wrong answer — this despite the fact that my wife and I hadn’t yet had any children!
I was left reeling. My stomach churned every time I heard a phone ring, conditioned, like Pavlov’s dog, to expect the worst.
Since then, I’ve learned that the amount of risk in a decision is directly related to the quality of my relationship with the people affected. When the relationships are deep, my margin for error is great. When the relationships are shallow or strained, there may not even be a margin for error.
Frankly, I no longer worry about the effects of my changing the bulletin, an annual program, or how I take the offering. I seldom worry about the fallout from a new ministry or a potential change in direction. After thirteen years, a measure of success, and a couple of major crises successfully navigated, I’ve acquired enough rope to outlive a few failures or misguided decisions. I’m not cavalier, but I’m aware that as my margin for error has increased, so has my freedom to take risks. Failure doesn’t look so bad when I know it won’t be fatal.
In some situations, naturally, a newly arrived leader has all the rope he needs from day one. When the church is in a crisis or is looking to the new leader to be a white knight riding to the rescue, the risk of making major changes is often less than the risk of standing pat. Usually, though, it’s wise to consider first how much rope you have.
How Clearly Has God Spoken?
The last question I ask before climbing out on a limb is “How clearly has God spoken?”
The clearer God’s direction, the greater the risk I’m willing to take. Like Abraham, mounting his donkey to go sacrifice his son Isaac, or Peter, stepping out on the water to go to Jesus, I want to obey when the Lord speaks clearly, no matter the risk.
The hard part is deciphering whether God has spoken clearly or I’ve merely baptized my ideas and desires. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. That’s why I use all the questions we’ve been looking at. I believe they go a long way in determining God’s will for our church. But on top of those questions, I want to be open to a clear word from the Lord.
Sometimes God’s leading is so clear it needs to be followed, regardless of how it matches up with anybody’s criteria. One of the best decisions I’ve ever made (and one of the greatest risks I’ve ever taken) flew in the face of all my risk questions.
At the time, we were looking to hire our first full-time associate. I wanted the person to preach about 20 percent of our Sunday morning services.
The person I presented to our elder board was a member of our church, in fact, one of the elders. He was also a close friend. He was a godly man, had a Bible degree from a respected Christian college, and had taught a number of home Bible studies over the years.
So far so good. But he’d also just been fired from his post as a Bible teacher and administrator at a local Christian school. He had no seminary education, and he’d never preached a sermon in his life. To top it off, the one time I’d heard him teach a Bible study, it was boring.
On the surface, he was not the most qualified person for the position, and he would enter it with some considerable liabilities. A number of the elders resisted the idea of hiring him. But one night, as I was driving home from a meeting that concerned this decision, I felt God clearly tell me we were to hire him. The message didn’t come in an audible voice, but it might as well have: I felt a powerful and deep sense of conviction that this was the man for our church. I couldn’t explain it, nor could I explain it away.
When I shared my experience with the elders, they graciously trusted me and acted in faith, and he was hired.
Today, all in our church agree that Mike has been one of God’s greatest gifts to our ministry. Along with providing outstanding leadership to a thriving home fellowship ministry, he’s become an excellent preacher. He now preaches over 30 percent of the time, and on most of those occasions, I’m in the audience, not on the road.
Risk taking is not an option if we want to be effective in ministry. But it’s vital that those risks be prudent. By asking these five questions, I’ve found it’s possible to take risks without risking too much in the process.
Copyright © 1993 by Christianity Today
