I look back at some of the things I did, or gave my blessing to, when I was a pastor with genuine shame and embarrassment. Not that what I did was morally bad or reprehensible. It was nothing that caused the denominational brass to come for my ministerial credentials. It’s just that, from the vantage point of time and perspective, I realize those things I endorsed ultimately worked against us rather than for us.
One of the most egregious was using giveaways, under the guise of outreach, to entice people to attend. I realize now, while it helped facilitate a few connections and perhaps draw a crowd, it also furthered the curse of consumer Christianity that is plaguing the North American church.
One of the churches I pastored for a number of years hosted a community carnival with a free lunch and inflatable games—the day culminating with a drawing where we gave away a couple of bikes. I’ve heard of churches, on Easter Sunday, having an Easter egg hunt and giving away skateboards or a PlayStation. I even heard of a church that hosted a “biker Sunday” and gave away a motorcycle. What’s even more odious than the giveaway in the first place is how we rationalize it. I remember seeing a pastor on the news whose church was hosting a giveaway event, and he said something to the effect of, “By giving these things away, we’re mirroring the grace of God.” Really? Coercing self-centered people to sit through a church service in hopes their name will be drawn from a barrel and eventually called? How does this mirror the grace of God? How does having a drawing where one lucky entrant walks away with a big prize mirror a reality that is free and available to all? We’re treating people like a market and seeing them as clientele … not valued individuals who bear the image of the living God.
Is it any wonder people can so freely leave a body of believers? Is it any wonder they can decide they’re through and walk out the door, leaving relationships unresolved and commitments unfulfilled? While sometimes it’s a character issue, I also believe it’s in part because the North American church has, in many ways, reduced Jesus to a commodity. We’ve turned the Savior of humankind into a product we can embrace or walk away from at will. And when Jesus becomes that, we shouldn’t be surprised people treat His church like other establishments or institutions.
My wife and I have a grocery store where we typically shop. But I’m not so loyal to where I’m above going to another store if they’ve running a special and have a better price on something I want. I’ve got a gas station where I typically buy gas and a dry cleaner where I typically take my clothes. But if another one comes along that is more convenient or offers what I perceive to be a better deal, I’m not above changing and taking my business elsewhere.
I’m convinced many North Americans view Jesus the same way. And what’s ironic is that, ultimately, their shifting and shuffling is about them. It’s incongruous to think that a number of people are making their devotion and allegiance to a guy who said “the way to discover your life is to lose it” primarily about their fleeting interests and preferences. It’s contradictory on the very face of it!
That’s not to say we shouldn’t try to identify a church where we connect. That’s also not to say there’s never an appropriate reason to leave a church. (James Emery White has a blog post on this topic that is very helpful … you can read it at https://www.churchandculture.org/blog/2018/1/25/when-should-you-leave-a-church?rq=leave%20church). But much of the time when a church departure happens, the reasons for it boil down to some rationale that smacks of consumer Christianity.
However, the blame can’t be fully placed at the feet of the individual. Quite often the church has fed into a narrative that says that organized Christianity is not about God and His reign, but about me and my perceived needs. And if handouts/giveaways/drawings are the ploy we use to attract people, that’s the tactic we’ll have to continue to supply if we’re going to keep them connected.