Two years ago my church decided to participate in a campaign called “Do Something,” in which we’d start ministry groups, go out into our community, and help out. And in so doing we’d spread the Kingdom of God.
Whoops; I got that wrong. I’m making the usual mistake of confusing the leadership with the actual church. I’ll rephrase.
Two years ago, my church leadership decided to participate in a “Do Something” campaign. There was a month of sermons, a book we were encouraged to read, and all sorts of ideas were pitched about how we could impact our community.
The church, however, responded as if someone had just farted at the dinner table: They heard it, waited for it to dissipate, and went on with things as if nothing had happened. And it did. More like “Do Nothing.”
This is a more blatant example of the average American Christian’s attitude about church. We don’t go to church to minister to one another. We go for what we can get out of it. But if we have to do something, anything, we’ll find some excuse not to. We’ll figure other people will do the ministry—and think because the leadership ministers, their good works are imputed to the rest of us. (Got news for you: No they’re not.)
Wanna know the fastest way to expose a do-nothing Christian? Ask one of us to do something.
“Jeez, I’m so busy…”
In seminary I was asked to join a cleanup ministry: The idea was to go to the beaches and pick up litter. (The county didn’t do it; tourists definitely don’t do it; somebody has to.) And I didn’t want to do that at all. Too much physical effort. Too boring. Not interactive enough for my idea, at the time, about what ministry should be. But instead of telling the leader, “No thanks,” for some dumb reason—maybe to spare his feelings—I lied. “Can’t make it. I’m busy those nights.”
Busy doing what? Anything else. Watching movies with my friends. Playing video games with them. Toilet-papering the R.A.’s room while he was out. If I wanted to Christianize it, I could call it “fellowship” (although TP’ing the R.A. over and over again didn’t grow our relationship any). But I would rather have hid in a closet for two hours than join the cleanup crew.
No, God wasn’t calling me to do something else. I didn’t ask him about it, one way or the other. Most of us never ask God whether we should get involved in any ministry. Mostly because we fear his answer will be, “Do it.” And we don’t wanna. We don’t wanna commit; we don’t wanna work; we don’t wanna be responsible for the job. We want as few responsibilities as we can get away with. We want our Christianity to be as effortless as possible.
Non-churchgoers know this comes with the territory: If you go to church, at some point they’re gonna ask you to do stuff. Or give money. Or stop sinning. Or change your lifestyle. Well, they don’t wanna. They want to be the same pagans they’ve always been. They fear church is gonna take away all their fun: Tell ’em they can’t smoke weed, can’t watch porn, can’t bully their co-workers, can’t cuss; and gotta give the church money and do charity work. Well, count them out.
They don’t realize they can be just like us churchgoers: Still live that lifestyle, and just pretend to be holy on Sunday mornings. They don’t realize they can just give the same excuse every Christian does every time we’re asked to step up: “I would—I’d love to, and it’s tearing me up inside to say no—but I’m just so busy.”
Honestly? I am busy. But I can find the time to do all sorts of things when I get organized. We all could. We just don’t. Easier to be busy, and use it as our excuse to avoid ministry.
Sometimes we realize, on the way to church, that’s the day we’re gonna be asked to do something. That’s the day the home groups are getting announced, and we’re each expected to join one. That’s the day the missionaries are coming, and we know they’re gonna spend all service talking about their needs, and they‘re gonna ask for money. That’s the day the sign-up sheets will be passed around for ministry teams. That’s the day one of the families at our church is moving, and we just know they’re gonna ask us, after the service, to help ’em move, and we so don’t want to. It’s a warm day; there’s football on; we were gonna go to the park; pick your reason.
So what do we do? Well, it’s usually the “too busy” excuse. In the past, I’ve even skipped church altogether, just to avoid the requests. Those were the days I decided to spend Sunday morning sleeping in. Or at Starbucks. All of a sudden I needed a break from church.
I’m not the only one who’s done this either. (I’ve caught ’em at Starbucks.)
Don’t have to do everything. But do something.
I’ve also been through phases where I said yes to everything, and wound up with far too much on my plate. Simultaneously, I was on the church board; I put together bulletins and the website and the worship slides and the ads; I did the bookkeeping (not by myself, thank God); I led a bible study; I went to prayer meetings and other small group meetings and interchurch meetings and evening functions and outreach events. Some Sundays I’d even preach.
Nope, I had no life outside of work and church. That was life. Which was fine, at the time; I was available. Then I switched jobs, and wasn’t available, and had to cut way back.
But when life’s at its busiest, there’s always some contribution I can make towards my church. And not just financial; money’s always easier than time. I just have to carve out the time. I don’t have to watch six hours of TV a week. I don’t have to sleep till 8 a.m. on Sunday mornings; I can get up early, go to church early, and help set things up. I’ve always been able to arrange my work schedule to suit my church schedule; lots of us can, but we never consider church a priority. Perhaps we should.
No, we don’t have to plug into 20 different ministries. But we can do one. Start with one.