“All in favor, say ‘Aye.’”
“AYE!” the congregation heartily said.
“Any opposed?”
And with a saccharine smile, the pastor would say, “Of course there’s no opposition,” then turn to the newly approved church members and say, “Welcome. Stand here with me so your new church family can come greet you.”
Brad Bull
Growing up Baptist, that was a regular experience at the end of worship services. What preceded the vote? Nothing really. Joining a Baptist church was even easier than getting a prescription for ADHD or erectile dysfunction.
Say what?
When I was on a state regulatory board for counselors, we got in a tiff about the role of counselors in discussing medication. Later, at a urologist’s office, I decided to do an experiment. I fibbed and told the urologist I was having “a mild issue with ED.”
Eventually, I asked my human sexuality classes what a doctor should have asked. My students came up with questions like: “When did it start? How has your stress level changed in that timeframe? How would you describe your relationship with your spouse?” All of these are necessary initial questions for assessing the need for medication versus behavioral modification.
My undergraduates did far better than my urologist from a revered private university medical school. My answer to his one question was, “Walgreens at the corner of 10th and Washington.” I walked out of his office with a prescription for Viagra, having only been asked, “What pharmacy do you use?”
What does that have to do with joining a church? Rushing to welcome folks as church members without assessing their needs and commitments will lead to potential problems not being addressed — or might actually even create problems.
“Rushing to welcome folks as church members without assessing their needs and commitments will lead to potential problems not being addressed.”
When I was a youth minister in the 1990s, an older female friend called me on a Wednesday afternoon. Our evening programming was beginning in about an hour. My friend was calling from her car. She was headed to pick up her son and wondered if she could bring him to our church. I knew the church they attended and the quality youth minister serving that congregation.
I wondered about the abrupt visit, and I said something like: “We’d be glad for him to join us tonight. I am curious, though, if there is some special circumstance that is prompting the visit.”
She sighed. “Well, we’re a bit sideways with the youth minister and exploring some other options.”
I said: “Well, these things happen. It’s why we have lots of churches, to meet a variety of needs and tastes. Have you had any conversations with the youth minister about what’s going on?”
“No.”
“OK. Well, y’all come on tonight. Then maybe we could schedule a time for you, me and your youth minister to meet and talk through what’s been going on and see if it’s something that can be resolved or if it’s just a bad fit.” (Ya know, “Blessed are the peacemakers” and all that.)
My friend never showed up with her son, and I never saw her again. Arguably, I rushed that conversation. But I don’t regret prompting that conversation.
During an evening worship sermon when our church’s pastor had just retired, I told that story. Concidentally, in the congregation was a visiting middle-aged couple. It’s a bit unusual to have first-time guests at an evening service. The last time it happened, a man had come forward to join at the evening service on his first visit. He was moving his membership from a church less than a mile away.
I sat there watching the church vote to accept in membership a man who had clearly gotten mad about something on Sunday morning, come to our church on Sunday evening and joined that same day. (“AYE!”) It was a disaster. He was a complete thorn in the side of business meetings until he left to go to yet another church.
So, back to the couple who showed up and had the look of people who had been mad all afternoon. I told the already planned story about the friend who no-showed after being offered a meeting to make peace. I said, “If we accept members without encouraging peace-making or an exit conversation with their previous church, we just bring in people who don’t want to handle conflict in a healthy way.”
The husband and wife’s eyes had the clichéd look of two deer in front of oncoming geese. Yeah, that’s not the idiom. I’m saying we sometimes have to mix things up. And, yes, that couple never came back.
But then there was the family I encountered on Saturday at a crowded Great American Steakhouse and Buffet. There were two older couples and one younger couple at the table with which we shared a back-to-back bench. My parents were in town to help us with some housework amid the deep pain of a second miscarriage.
Our 4-year-old daughter was climbing across the bench seat when the helium balloon tied to her wrist brushed the back of the head of the oldest man. He jerked around and said, “Hey! Watch it, kid!” I said, “I’m sorry,” while processing his accent and thinking, “I hope you folks have a nice stop here in Knoxville and then get on your way back to Ohio.
Halfway through our meal, my daughter pulled the string beside her. The window blinds flipped open, flooding our area with bright sunlight. Mr. Grumpypants shot around and said to my wife, “Lady! If you can’t control your kid, I will.” My wife immediately started crying as my father lifted our daughter across the table, saying, “Come here, Hon. Let’s get away from the crazy man.” I opted not to be arrested for assault and battery in front of our daughter.
However, when our family left, I circled back. I said to the man on the far side of the table, “Sir, my wife had a miscarriage two days ago.” He laughed and said, “I did, too.” His wife elbowed him sharply in the ribs. The other couples flamed in awkward embarrassment.
I pointed at the military tattoo on the forearm of Seaman Sauerkraut and said, “About the only thing keeping me from coming over this table right now is my respect for your age and your service.” He laughed and said, “Oh, I think I know what’s keeping you on that side of the table.” I bobbed my eyebrows and said, “I’ll let you live in your fantasy.”
The next day I walked into the sanctuary and took my seat next to the pulpit. On the second row, shoulder to shoulder, were six very wide-eyed deer. Turns out — according to the minister who had greeted them at the door — they had all just moved to Knoxville and were looking for a church home. They didn’t pick ours.
Some might fault me for driving away potential members. However, a doctor has a responsibility to fully assess patients rather than just scribbling a prescription. Likewise, churches and ministers need to put healthy community above landing more tithers. After all, Jesus set a boundary and let the rich young ruler choose to walk away.
Brad Bull has served as a pastor and university professor and is a licensed marriage and family therapist, writer and speaker who may be reached at DrBradBull.com.