By Elizabeth Evans Hagan
As a child, I would beam with delight when I was able to watch the beloved 1939 film adaptation of L. Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz. There’s truly something magical about a story in which miserable circumstances get transformed for the good, where community is created among the most unlikely of friends and where those who are different are most certainly included — isn’t there?
Yet, the film’s best image is the idea that by journeying with persistence, as Dorothy and her friends did, we can connect with a presence that is somehow greater than ourselves. That, indeed, one person is out there somewhere who can solve our problems and can lift us up to the fullest realization of our potential.
However, as the end of the story tells us, the Wizard who lived in Oz wasn’t all that the searchers dreamed he would be. He didn’t have a natural big voice. He wasn’t extra-tall. He wasn’t so all-powerful that he could snap his hands and make things better.
In a day and age of megachurches and authoritarian church leadership — when senior pastors are highly revered, respected, and often well-removed from the day-to-day operations of the congregation — the myth of the Wizard still seems to live on.
Yet, what disappointment! Just as the Wizard behind the curtain was indeed just a man — no more than a human being in a leadership position with some cool gadgets — so are pastors.
In large-membership churches where senior pastors only preach on Sunday mornings and make a few key appearances among the people of the parish at other times during the month, church culture is shaped by this other-than-us view of the pastor.
While this is good and necessary for some (though I’d like to call it hero worship), what happens in a small-membership church in the congregational-governance tradition that believes in the priesthood of all believers? Can we truly live into what many come to us expecting of our pastors?
Sadly, in our case, the myth of the “man” behind the curtain dies. For when you join a congregational church like ours, you soon learn that your pastor is made of the same bones, flesh and emotions that you are. And, you realize that the church, in fact, doesn’t revolve around the pastor. For, if you look behind the curtain, you’ll find the entire congregation there.
Church doesn’t just happen. Everything is not arranged in advance without someone doing the background work to ensure it takes place properly. The offering plate doesn’t magically find its way to the altar. The kitchen is not always sparking clean. Children’s Sunday school doesn’t just teach itself. Everyone is needed to participate in the process of “doing church.”
No one can just stand on the sidelines and expect the wizards of the church to improve things. You can’t expect the pastor to solve all your problems. And, like the Wizard, God’s people — known to us as the people next to us in the pews — aren’t always as they appear to be. Eventually, the curtain of pretense falls and reality sets in.
Yet, most people say that authenticity is what they most want out of our church experiences. If this is true, such a community-based ethic is necessary and often harder than it seems at first. I confess that I often counsel those who are considering joining our church by telling them that membership is a call to a serious investment of their time and other resources. Members don’t just show up on Sunday to receive something; they come and embrace a community where they can work out their salvation in all its joys and sorrows.
I’m sorry that I can’t help the myth of the Wizard of Oz live on for my congregation (because sometimes I, too, wish I had a person like this in my life). But the longer I am in ministry, the more thankful I become that I’m not alone behind any curtain. I don’t want to be a part of a church of any other tradition. I’m glad for the community of faith that sticks together, learning more each year about what it means to carry out Christ’s mission in our world. I’m glad that, though congregations like ours may not be perfect, they are real.