Page 1258 – Christianity Today (2024)

From BuildingChurchLeaders.com

Every leader has a responsibility to make decisions that not only consider the best interests of the ministry but also actively seek God’s will. In a group setting this gets even more complicated. Multiple voices seek to reach a unified understanding of what the will of God might be in any particular situation. This 22-page training pack includes a variety of practical tips and suggestions to help you seek God’s will as a team.

Are We Ready for Change?

From ChurchLawAndTax.com

How do you know if your church is ready for change, or if it needs to? This collection of assessments helps you and your leaders make these decisions. Use these tools to figure out if your church needs change, if you’re ready for it, how to present it, and how to make it happen. You can also think through and identify any risk factors you may face in the change process.

The Landmark Sermon

From PreachingToday.com

In this article Jack Hayford shows that a clear word at the right time can keep the church from pulling apart. The best way to do this, according to Hayford, is through landmark sermons. Strong leaders are known for their landmark sermons. Landmark sermons are defining moments of a church and a pastor. Without them there are no boundaries, no line in the sand; there is nothing to communicate vision and goals, policies and practices, beliefs and standards.

Times of Transition

From GiftedForLeadership.com

Whether you’re in a place where you know that you need to transition, or if you’re just starting to wonder if it might be time to move on, this packet will help. It will not only help you discern where you need to be but give you courage to take those next steps.

Copyright © 2014 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

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“Through discernment and a broader understanding of vocation, people can be encouraged and empowered to exercise their own gifts and passions. For pastors who need to be in control, it’s going to be unsettling. We need to get away from the four characteristics of McDonaldization: predictability, calculability, efficiency, and control.” – John Pattison

“What we’re encouraging is for churches to grow deeper, to know the people in their congregation and neighborhood, and to be attentive to these people. Ultimately, slow is not about speed, it’s about attentiveness. Once we start to grow deeper in our knowledge of our place, our neighbors, and the people in our congregation, we’re able to respond and discern better what really needs urgency and what doesn’t.” – Chris Smith

—From “Mary, Martha, and Slow Church,” on Parsemagazine.com.

“Faith grew from seeds of doubt, and I came upon a whole new world that, for the first time, actually made sense to me. To this day, I do not find faith stifling but liberating and transformative. It has opened a constellation of meaning, beauty, hope, and life that I had been indoctrinated to deny. And so began a lifelong quest to know, study, and teach about the one whom Christians called Lord.”

—Michael Bird, responding to Bart Ehrman’s “de-conversion” in “How God Became Jesus—and How I Came to Faith in Him”(ChristianityToday.com)

David Foster Wallace: Prophet of Cultural Cynicism?

A recent essay from Salon.com sees iconic novelist David Foster Wallace’s views on irony and cynicism as pop-culture prophecy. A key question of Wallace’s work asked how cultural expression can move from commoditized, self-obsessed irony to something “sincere and redeeming.”

The authors note that:

“Irony is now fashionable and a widely embraced default setting for social interaction, writing, and the visual arts. Irony fosters an affected nihilistic attitude that is no more edgy than a syndicated episode of Seinfeld … . Wallace called for art that redeems rather than simply ridicules[.]

“For a rising generation, media-fueled cynicism and irony are the default settings for approaching life, relationships, and yes, faith and worship. Perhaps pastors ought to mine pop-culture prophets like Wallace to help blaze a new path to redemptive sincerity.”

—From “Irony is Ruining our Culture,” 4/13/14, Salon.com

PARSE //A Top 10 Ministry Blog

Since our launch of PARSE in January, ministry readers around the world have connected with our unique blend of cultural insight, ministry savvy, and unusual subject matter. So much so, that PARSE was just listed (using key industry metrics) as #10 out of the top 300 Christian Ministry blogs in the world by ChurchRelevance.com. Are you a faithful reader? Thanks! Not been there yet? Check it out at PARSE

The Protestant Return to the Parish

If you missed it, be sure to catch my conversation with author and activist Tim Soerens on how “The New Parish” can open up your neighborhood, your congregation, and your heart. Here’s one question from our chat. – Paul Pastor

What have churches lost in losing their connection to their neighborhood?

Tim: The first word that comes to mind is reality, the second is possibility.

Outside of presence in a neighborhood parish context that embraces some sort of limitation and accepts a healthy measure of responsibility, it’s nearly impossible to discern what effect their communal life is having upon others. This is one reason we see the parish as a timely gift to the current state of the church today. Responsibility and limitation may not be the sexiest words, but we can neither be truly human, nor communally present, without naming how we will be limited, and how we will be responsible. As my friend and co-author Paul Sparks repeatedly says, “The parish is an invitation to the real.”

—Read the full interview at Christianitytoday.com/parse

“There is a growing conviction in urban centers that food intake is not a neutral, amoral choice. Your diet can either be good or bad, loving or unloving—to yourself, to animals, to local farmers, to the environment, or to your loved ones.”

-Pastor Aaron Damiani in “Food is the New Sex.”

Stay-at-home moms on the rise

“After decades of decline, a rise in stay-at-home mothers,” reads the headline of a recent report from Pew. They chart a reversal that is complex, as much a factor of economic or social realities as it is the product of choice:

The recent turnaround appears to be driven by a mix of demographic, economic and societal factors, including rising immigration as well as a downturn in women’s labor force participation, and is set against a backdrop of continued public ambivalence about the impact of working mothers on young children.

The key takeaway? In ministry to moms, don’t assume too much from whether they work inside or outside the home. As always, our generation’s dynamics of work, family, and calling are complex. Get to know mothers and their family stories one at a time.

— From PewSocialTrends.org

America’s 53 million Latinos now make up the country’s largest ethnic minority. A recent report from Barna traces many of the key demographics for this population. One key takeaway is the powerful vision Hispanics have for their work. 85% find personal meaning and fulfillment in the work they do, and 69% see their work as “creating a better world.” However like many other demographics, they struggle to connect work and faith—72% see their work and faith as two separate parts of life.

—From Barna.org

Copyright © 2014 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

"Why do we work so hard?" The question is asked by a man standing before a pool and manicured lawn. "Other countries, they work, they stroll home, they stop by the cafe, they take August off, off. Why aren't you like that? Why aren't we like that? Because we're crazy hard working believers."

The recent Cadillac commercial that featured this message has been heavily criticized for endorsing materialism and workaholism. But what critics often overlook is the ad's accuracy.

According to the International Labor Organization, Americans work more, take less vacation, and retire later than people in any other industrialized country. In the U.S. 86 percent of men and 67 percent of women work more than 40 hours per week.

Does the church really need to be talking more about work in a culture that's already obsessed with it?

By any measure work is an enormous, even overbearing part of our lives. Our culture is more work-centered than any other on the planet and, very possibly, more work-centered than any other in history. In such a culture, those of us tasked with making disciples of Jesus Christ cannot ignore work as a critical area of spiritual formation, but two-thirds of churched adults surveyed by Barna said they have not heard any teachings about work at their church.

At a recent Leadership Journal event to address this topic, a few pastors challenged me. "Does the church really need to be talking more about work in a culture that's already obsessed with it?" one asked. That's a fair question, but let's apply the same logic to another cultural obsession—sex. For generations many churches avoided talking about sex apart from periodically condemning the culture's warped sexual values. Most pastors have now abandoned this ignore-or-condemn approach to sex for more mature, biblical discussions about an inescapable part of our humanity and spirituality.

Similarly, ignoring work or condemning our culture's idolatry of it is not enough. Instead our task is to affirm the original goodness of work as a God-ordained part of our humanity without falling into the culture's trap of making work into an idol. We must present a redeemed vision of work. In a culture full of "crazy hard working believers," however, that requires not only talking about work but also rest.

Music isn't just sound

A few years ago, visiting relatives in Southern California, my brother and sister-in-law took me to a concert at the Hollywood Bowl. As the sun was setting behind the outdoor amphitheater, the members of the orchestra began taking their seats. The sounds of the musicians tuning their instruments were odd. Screeching strings randomly echoed from the left. Blasts came from the wind section on the right. It was chaotic and a bit unpleasant.

Finally, the conductor emerged. He calmly raised his arms over his noisy instrumentalists. Silence. After a few moments of quiet anticipation, the conductor's hands moved and the music began.

Redeeming work requires an orderly rhythm of work and rest.

While the musicians were tuning their instruments, they were certainly making sounds and even notes, but not music. "Music," said composer Claude Debussy, "is the silence between the notes." It is the orderly rhythm of sound and silence that creates melodies and the soul-stirring music we value. Without silence there can be no music, only noise.

Similarly, redeeming work requires an orderly rhythm of work and rest. Without regular periods of rest, our work loses its meaning and value and deteriorates into chaotic toil. We may ridicule cultures that legislate six-hour work days and eight weeks of vacation every year, but ceaseless work does not lead to flourishing either. What our culture has lost is a rhythm of work and rest in a frantic pursuit of achievement. As a result we are making a lot of noise but very little music.

The most obvious example is the loss of the Sabbath. A weekly day of rest as prescribed by Scripture no longer fits with the demands of an ever-growing 24/7 consumer economy, and even many Christians see it as an antiquated pattern of life. But taking a day each week to rest is more than a way to find rejuvenation and the stamina for another six days of work. Sabbath gives us the opportunity to step back from our immediate daily demands to put life into perspective, to appreciate the fruit of our labor, and to see our work in the larger context of God's work.

In other words, far from diminishing the importance of work, Sabbath frames and defines our work so we can see its true value. Sabbath is when the Cosmic Conductor raises his arms to bring silence and stillness over his noisy orchestra so that something truly beautiful can be created.

There are more subtle ways we've lost a work/rest rhythm as well. Mobile technology means many of us never leave the office. Research has found that 90 percent of young adults check their phones before getting out of bed in the morning. Some of us are checking emails and responding to work issues all evening, during meals, and I'm guessing, even during worship gatherings.

Advocates call it multitasking. Technology allows us to work from anywhere. In truth, it causes us to work from everywhere. Clifford Nass, a psychology professor at Stanford University, says multitasking is a myth that wastes more time than it saves. "Without space to rest and reflect," says Nass, "the evidence shows these technologies may be killing our concentration and creativity rather than cultivating them."

I have found that transforming the noise of toil into the music of work requires weekly and daily rhythms of rest. Keeping boundaries on my phone usage, pausing regularly through the day for prayer and Scripture reading, and practicing the Sabbath have not diminished the value of work in my life, but instead helped me appreciate its value far more.

Space to hear a still, small voice

Apart from giving our work greater order and meaning, rest also creates the necessary space to discern what work God is calling us to. Before the Reformation it was believed that the word vocation, which comes from the Latin vocare meaning "to call," only applied to the clergy. Luther, Calvin, and others rejected this and said that every Christian was called by God in three ways.

First, the Reformers taught that we are all called to unity with Christ.

Second, all Christians share a set of common callings as revealed in the Scriptures.

Third, each of us is also called to a specific, good, God-honoring work in the world. We all have a vocation.

Sabbath is when the cosmic conductor raises his arms to bring silence and stillness over his noisy orchestra.

How do we discover our vocation? What work is God calling us to do? Unlike our common callings, which can be found by reading the Bible, I cannot open to a chapter and verse to discover my specific calling. Discerning these callings comes through a mature communion with the Holy Spirit. In other words, a theology of vocation is contingent upon a practical theology of prayer. But if we do not slow down, cease from our work, and learn to commune deeply with God, we will not be equipped to hear his call.

We see this pattern in Jesus' own communion with his Father. The start of his public ministry, the selection of his apostles, and his journey to Jerusalem and the cross were all started only after first ceasing work and devoting space for prayer to discern the Father's calling.

I regularly meet with college students who are eager to discuss vocation. "How do I know what I'm supposed to do with my life?" they sometimes ask me with more than a dollop of anxiety, depending on how close they are to graduating.

"Tell me about your communion with God," I'll ask. "Tell me about your prayer life."

Some have been confused by this question. They assume their vocational calling is to be found by studying Scripture more carefully, by exploring their gifts through an assessment, or by uncovering a great need in the world they should devote their lives to remedying. Those are all well and good, but they also feed our cultural bias of taking life rather than receiving it.

Many of the callings that have shaped my life have been received in silence and solitude, including my call into ministry. These callings were subsequently affirmed by others in the church who also possess the Holy Spirit, but the process started by cultivating the space in my life for prayer and reflection.

Henri Nouwen noted that we like to stay busy because we want to avoid the noise within us. "Your inner life is like a banana tree with monkeys jumping up and down," he said. The discipline of rest forces us to acknowledge and tame our inner monkeys. Only then can we hear God's calling, and then engage our exterior world accordingly. In this way the fruit of our work is not determined by how much we accomplish around us, but by how connected we are to God's Spirit within us.

What church leaders can do

If a redeeming vision of work in our workaholic culture means cultivating a rhythm of rest and the space to discern God's calling, then what is the church's role in reestablishing these healthy patterns? Christ has called pastors to shepherd his sheep. That metaphor certainly includes feeding, leading, and protecting the flock of Christ, but we often overlook the shepherd's role in providing rest. "He makes me lie down in green pastures … He restores my soul," says David of his Shepherd in Psalm 23.

Many of the callings that have shaped my life have been received in silence and solitude, including my call to ministry.

When I left my full-time pastoral role to work with Leadership Journal, I began keeping track of my time. What I found surprised me. Between my editorial work, my family relationships, the tasks of maintaining a home, yard, and body, I concluded that about 12 percent of my time was discretionary. From this 12 percent, I could read a book, volunteer at the homeless shelter, or take a nap. This 12 percent was also what the church was eager to fill with service opportunities.

It was often indirect and subtle, but from the moment I entered the church building on Sunday mornings, I felt like my 12 percent was being targeted. Whether it was the children's ministry seeking volunteers, or the upcoming Missions Fest dinner, or the new tutoring initiative with the local elementary school—between the songs and Scripture, the morning was crammed with ads. Sometimes they were even cleverly embedded in the sermon.

Ultimately it was my responsibility to say yes or no to these opportunities, and I did not fault the church leaders for making me aware of the needs or the important work happening in our community. After all I was in that pulpit for many years pushing the very same activities with the very same good intentions. But after a few months in the pews rather than the pulpit, I felt exhausted. After a challenging week of work, there were some Sundays where attending a worship service brought more noise than music to my life.

This led to me to reflect more honestly about my time in ministry and how I had led the sheep entrusted to my care. Was I a shepherd that provided rest, or was I singularly focused on winning a larger slice of their discretionary time? In the most work-focused culture in history, was I helping to create a harmonious rhythm of work and rest, or adding to the cacophony of noise and the idolatry of achievement?

I wonder if our culture's addiction to work, including within the church, is contributing to the church burnout and dropout rates. Based on conversations I've had with former church attenders, I think it is. Of course the work we're calling people to in the church is good, godly, and important, but when they've not been shown how to bring redemptive patterns of work and rest into their professional lives, and healthy rhythms of rest are also absent in the church's life, eventually the sheep will leave to find a pasture where they can lie down—even if it's a couch in front of an HDTV.

In 1974 Colonel William Pogue became the first American to go on strike—in space. The astronaut was part of the last, and longest, manned mission aboard the Skylab space station. About halfway through the 84-day mission, Colonel Pogue and the other astronauts requested ground controllers adjust the work schedule for more rest. "We had been overscheduled," Pogue said. "We were just hustling the whole day. The work could be tiresome and tedious, though the view as spectacular."

Ground control refused. The work was too important, they said, and time was limited. Some worried the astronauts' request was a sign of depression or a physical illness. Pogue insisted neither was the case. They just wanted more time to look out the window and think, he said.

Eventually the disagreement between the crew and the controllers became so intense the astronauts went on strike. Finally a compromise was reached which gave the crew more time to rest during the remaining six weeks of the flight. Pogue later wrote that having more time to look out the window at the sun and earth below also made him reflect more about himself, his crewmen, and their "human situation, instead of trying to operate like a machine."

Isn't Sunday supposed to be a time to cease from our work, gaze out the capsule window, and contemplate our lives and calling from a cosmic perspective? Aren't the songs, sacraments, and sermons supposed to reveal the wonder of God's kingdom amid the chaos of our world, and prepare us to reenter the atmosphere on Monday with a renewed sense of meaning? How did the goal on Sunday shift from feeding sheep to recruiting them?

There is no denying that our culture has embraced a broken vision of work. As the Cadillac commercial states, we are "crazy hard working believers." But the church can help redeem work by modeling daily, weekly, and annual rhythms of rest. When we cease from labor, it affords us the space to discern God's calling so we may return to our work with a renewed focus. Rest also brings an order and efficiency to our work as well as harmony to our lives. And when pastors shepherd their flocks on Sundays to see the world from a heavenly perspective, we may be reminded that they are not machines and neither are we.

Skye Jethani is executive editor of Leadership Journal.

Copyright © 2014 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

I owe my life to missionaries. Growing up as an orphan in rural Kenya, missionaries—some long-term, some short-term—intervened at key junctions in my life.

Missionaries helped start the children's home that saved me from being destitute. Missionaries sent some of my most beloved friends, mentors, and supporters to my doorstep. And through the years I learned the difference between mission teams that helped and those that didn't. Perhaps my story will be a tool for your own discernment as you reach out to others.

For the first time, I saw what it was like to be the one offering help.

I lost my father at a young age and was soon abandoned by my mother as well. So at the age of 11, I lived with my 13-year-old brother and 5-year-old sister. We found ways to survive, selling plastic bags of water to earn money for food. But we regularly dropped out of school.

My life changed when a pair of pastors—one Kenyan, one American—started a children's home. When I was able to live there, I knew my life had changed forever. One day, after a few years of living there, I met two young American women who were traveling through the area. They had blonde hair that hung in their eyes, and they talked to me in a grown-up way I'd rarely been talked to before.

They lived at my orphanage for a year, starting a non-profit called Hope Runs, and ultimately bringing me to the United States. The book Hope Runs: An American Tourist, a Kenyan Boy, a Journey of Redemption tells the story of the strange, makeshift family we have formed.

At first, though, I was wary of them, and so were my friends. Living in an orphanage, I'd had many experiences with missionaries who came to help over the years. Some had done just that, ultimately changing my life and the lives of my peers. Some had only added to our hardship (more on that later). White people—mzungus, as we call them in Kenya—had not always been the best visitors. What would it be like to have this pair of girls around for so long? With time, though, I grew to know, trust, and love them.

Over time, I understood in a way that many of my friends did not, that mzungus couldn't drop their lives in the U.S. to live with my friends and me in our orphanage. I saw, eventually, that sometimes good things could happen in those few days when missionaries were there.

Years later, I would gain a much more comprehensive perspective. When I came to start high school in the U.S., I felt that my American peers saw me like the missionaries did—like a needy orphan. With time, though, I learned to walk and talk and think like my new high school friends around me. Most important, I learned what it meant to be able to extend resources to others.

Focus less on "helping," and more on cross-cultural exchange.

In my senior year of high school, I ran a campaign that made the local news, collecting thousands of pairs of running shoes for my peers in orphanages back home. The year after high school, I took this concept of service a step further and spent a year volunteering on a service project in Ecuador. For the first time, I saw what it was like to walk into a community and be the one offering the help.

Although these experiences have given me a more complete perspective on missionary work than I ever had growing up in my orphanage, many of the thoughts and feelings I had as a child about the strange white people that came to visit still ring true. Here are five things I have learned about being a good missionary from being on the other side, the side of the beneficiary, the one being helped.

1. Rethink the goals of your short-term mission trip.

In the orphanage, I saw many short-term missionaries come and go. Again and again I was amazed by how many of them were completely focused on "getting things done" during their time with us. Whether it was building a chicken coop, painting the dorm rooms, or fixing a borehole, many missions teams spent the few days they were with us doing, doing, doing. And most of the time, the doing was manual labor or unspecialized work.

I was thrilled they wanted to help us, but I always wondered about the particular activities they chose. In Kenya, for example, we have rampant unemployment, and there is literally an endless supply of Kenyans who would do such menial labor for very little money. If a missionary is going to spend so much money to fly and visit us, shouldn't they be doing work that only they can do?

Again and again, I found that the missionaries I most connected with were those who realized this fact. They saw that the thousands of dollars they had spent to come visit us could be best used in building relationships, both with the students in our orphanage and with the elders as well, not in painting, building, or manual labor that Kenyans could do.

It was in these relationships—when I learned about the wider world, got to practice my English, and built some key connections that would last a lifetime—that I saw the real benefit to having short-term missionaries come to the orphanage.

If there is one thing I could tell short-term missionaries, it would be this: focus less on "helping," and more on cross-cultural exchange, and becoming friends.

2. Don't try to get too close too fast.

I'm still a teenager, so I can't speak with the authority of a psychologist on this, but from what I have read about orphaned and vulnerable children who grow up in situations similar to mine, I know that there are problems with attachment that come when you're raised like I was.

Try to remember that the trip isn't over when you get back home.

Although I loved seeing missionaries get close quickly with many of the kids at the orphanage, I sometimes worried about the younger, more emotionally vulnerable children. There were many young girls and boys at my home who would latch on quickly to a missionary who was only there for a few days—holding her hand and not letting her out of their sight for 72 hours. And then they'd be devastated when she inevitably left.

I want short-term missionaries to show love and care, but it's important to be aware of this difficult reality and to proceed carefully, knowing that you—the missionary—are the adult in the situation. Kids are particularly vulnerable to short-term visitors, and they often don't understand the reality of your life back at home and why you really have to leave after a few days. It may not be fair to you that a kid is disappointed when you only stay a week (which is a long time off work for you!), but as I saw again and again, many of my peers just didn't understand the concept of traveling so far for such a short time. These visits can be good, but proceed with caution.

3. Learn what the partner needs.

One day I was coming back from running practice, and the bell in the dining hall rang, meaning that all 170 children at my orphanage were supposed to gather together into the central courtyard. When we did, we came face-to-face with 20 smiling mzungus.

After one of our elders introduced the group, she said that the mzungus had a presentation for us. A middle-aged American woman with a bottle of hand sanitizer strapped to her waist gave a 15-minute talk about how to brush your teeth. Then she passed out toothbrushes.

We couldn't stop laughing. Another white person who thinks we don't know how to brush our teeth!

As we filed into the dining hall afterwards, we couldn't stop laughing. "Another mzungu who thinks we don't know how to brush our teeth!" We added the new toothbrushes to our stockpile. We had dozens, of course, from all the other white people who had come through that year apparently concerned primarily about our teeth.

The lesson here is that understanding what a partner needs is essential if you're trying to offer valuable support. In this case, the group was at our orphanage for only a few hours, and they assumed that in that short time it made the most sense to focus on tooth brushing. They were wrong. Ask, ask, and ask again.

4. Don't forget the money.

People don't like to talk about money, but when it comes to orphanages that constantly struggle financially, we have to. Of the many problems related to short-term missions that I saw play out again and again, problems with money and a lack thereof topped the list. Here's a classic example:

After months of coordination between the orphanage and a U.S. church, a group of 10 comes from the U.S. and stays for four nights in some extra dormitory rooms. The orphanage van (the only vehicle) goes on an 8-hour round-trip journey to pick them up at the airport, and another 8-hour trip to drop them off at the end of their stay.

They bring with them a dozen bags of donated clothes and books. During their time at the orphanage, they are served special meals with things we kids don't get to eat—meat, fresh vegetables, milk, and sugary treats. During their stay, the three full-time staff at the orphanage are on-call the entire time, helping with the constant questions and issues that always come up when people travel to an unknown (and, to them, primitive) place. The orphanage takes the group on frequent rides to local shopping centers, tourist places, hospitals, and the like every day. When the group departs, they may leave a donation of $2,000.

From the church's perspective, they have fundraised incredibly hard and already spent more than $30,000 to bring a group of 10 to Kenya. For them it seems reasonable to make a donation of $2,000. The orphanage, in contrast, feels exhausted, used, and frustrated. That $2,000, even in Kenya, is not a lot of money to pay for all of the orphanage's expenses and staff time. Three years later, the orphanage hears from the group again, saying they had such a great time, they want to make another trip.

There are variations on this story. Sometimes the group leaves no money at all. Sometimes the orphanage never hears from the group again. Sometimes the group promises a large donation or offering upon returning home and showing their photos and videos to the congregation, but it never materializes. And sometimes, of course, a church becomes a long-term partner. But long-term partnerships are the exception.

Year after year, the cycle continues. The orphanage accepts short-term missionaries because it is always hoping for that long-term partner who can really help. In the interim, though, they are using up resources that should be going to the children on an endless stream of visitors.

If you're a church considering a short-term missions trip, please think about the implications of the time and resources the orphanage will spend on you.

5. Follow up, follow up, follow up.

What a missionary does once he or she goes home is often far more important than what happens at the site. Following up is everything.

When I talk about some of the great relationships I built with short-term missionaries over the years, I know that the only reason those relationships worked was because the missionary followed up. As an orphan, I didn't have money for a stamp to send a letter (and Internet access, both then and now, is unusual in many children's homes in Kenya). But if a person I met wrote me, we could develop a friendship. Some of my greatest mentors and friends to this day are people who first came for just a few short days to my orphanage. On the larger scale, follow up is the only way that the orphanage and the church can truly build a mutually beneficial long-term partnership.

Ultimately, try to remember that the trip isn't over when you get back home.

In the years since I left the orphanage and began to have experiences of my own helping others, I've learned a lot about what it means to extend help and how difficult it can be. Aside from my year spent on a service project in Ecuador, I've also now taken part in several short-term volunteer experiences with international missionaries visiting orphanages and nonprofits in Kenya. In all of these experiences, I've served as a bridge, the rare person who knows both sides, and who tries to provide advice on how each side can better understand the other. I'm glad that the missions field has changed to emphasize understanding on-the-ground partners, but there is still much more work to do.

I believe the core of the issue has to do with better communication between missions groups and partner sites, in hopes that we can bridge the vastly different cultural and financial expectations and assumptions that each group has.

By working closer, we can help one another.

Claire Diaz-Ortiz is Twitter's manager for social innovation and coauthor of Hope Runs: An American Tourist, a Kenyan Boy, a Journey of Redemption (Revell, 2014). Claire is the cofounder of Hope Runs, a nonprofit organization operating in AIDS orphanages in Kenya.

Samuel Ikua Gachagua was born in rural Kenya in 1992. After losing his parents at a young age, he struggled to survive until he was placed in an orphanage in Nyeri, Kenya. In 2009, he received a full-ride scholarship to Maine Central Institute, granting him a rare U.S. visa and the chance to begin his sophom*ore year of high school under the guardianship of Claire Diaz-Ortiz. After graduating from high school, he spent a year serving in Ecuador as a fellow for Global Citizen Year. He is an up-and-coming motivational speaker.

Copyright © 2014 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

You'd have thought I'd just cussed by the way the mouths around the table soundlessly fell open. And all I'd said was "I don't think I can pray that for you."

The woman who had just asked us to pray was perhaps the most shocked of all.

My home group had just finished eating dinner, and we were sharing prayer requests. With obvious distress, Kris had told of her daughter's plan to move in with a boyfriend that weekend, and asked us to pray that God wouldn't allow it.

I usually try not to take exception to people's prayer requests, but I have a low tolerance for requests I think God clearly will not answer. On this occasion, I didn't keep quiet.

Once they all caught their breath, I explained. "I think all of us here can understand why you want God to stop her from doing that. If anyone here feels that's what God wants, you're free to pray that way. I'm wondering, however, whether asking God to override someone's ability to make moral choices isn't akin to witchcraft."

Isn't asking God to override someone's ability to make moral choices akin to witchcraft?

I could see Kris was near seething at my bluntness, so I hurried on. "What I suggest we pray for is that God would reveal himself to your daughter. That he would let her see clearly the choice she is making. And that God will show you how to trust him and love your daughter, even if she makes the stupidest mistake of her young life."

I had hardly finished before Kris blurted out through tears, "That's exactly what I need."

We gathered around her to pray. Instead of praying for the situation not to take a distressing turn, we prayed for Kris. What could have been a sympathetic but shallow exercise in prayer became a marvelous discovery of discerning how God works in difficult situations.

Prayer snares

At most prayer meetings a host of requests are made, then a handful of people offer quick prayers until the list is covered. Rarely do we stop to ask if a particular prayer request is in line with what God is doing. Rarely do we follow up to find out how God answered.

We are often left praying a list of wishes, not pondering how God might use these situations to shape us or build his kingdom.

We often pray a list of wishes, not pondering how God might use these situations to shape us.

My young son awakened me to the folly of this. We were reading John 15 one morning for a family devotion when he suddenly blurted out, "That's not true!" I had just read the verse about God giving us whatever we ask of him. But my five-year-old was already aware that most of what we prayed for as a family didn't happen. I wondered if our prayer practices were teaching him, whether we liked it or not, that prayer is only verbalizing our wish list.

While the exercise of prayer itself offers comfort for the moment, I'm afraid many prayer requests teach us to use God like a genie in a bottle. I don't want my son, or my brothers and sisters, to get that impression. I'm no longer comfortable praying for things that I'm not convinced are in sync with God's heart.

5 ways to pray with God in mind

Prayer enables us to discover what God is doing, to trace his hand in the circ*mstances of our lives. Through the vital communication of prayer, he transforms us in the process. Prayer, therefore, is not so much a means of manipulating the master plan, but of being shaped by the master's hand.

Not all prayer groups are conducive to that kind of prayer. Not all requests follow that understanding. Consider five guidelines to direct your prayer times to foster a transformational, ongoing walk with God.

1. Focus prayer on the people involved. The temptation at "prayer-request time" is to think only of action points we want God to undertake for us or gifts we want from him. That misses what God considers most important.

When the news arises of a brother going to a war zone, the opportunity for prayer is not to ask God to keep him home. That limits the scope of prayer to events, when it should be focused on people. It also limits the prayers to a specific request, without offering an opportunity to discern God's heart in the matter.

Instead, address the fears of his sister, the worry of his mother, and the faith of the soldier himself. We can pray that God will mold our courage and our ability to trust, that he will help us overcome fears, and that the brother will recognize God's presence and serve God in this situation. These are the evidences of God's work and the kinds of prayers he answers.

I've discovered that smaller groups give us time to process someone's struggle and help identify God's work. Even some home-sized groups can be too big for this kind of prayer. I have always found it more effective to break down in groups of two or three where people really take the time to explore the situation together.

2. Seek God's perspective. Many prayer requests fit what we think is best and often run counter to what God is actually doing.

I no longer pray for things that I'm not convinced are in sync with God's heart.

I love how Peter and John responded to the Pharisee's threats that they stop proclaiming Jesus or face punishment. When they gathered later with other believers to pray, they didn't pray for what would be easiest. They could have prayed God would convert the Pharisees or wipe them from the face of the earth. But they didn't see either of those options as fitting God's design. Instead, they prayed for boldness to continue to do what God asked, even when they knew they might be beaten, imprisoned, or executed for it.

The primary step in prayer is asking God to reveal what he is doing in the situation and pausing long enough to let him answer. One of the things I most appreciate about Henry Blackaby's Experiencing God is that it invites us to trust God to show us what he is doing in our lives. Prayer should be directed by talking together to see if anyone has a specific insight about how to pray for the people involved.

3. Let trust, and not fear, fuel your prayers. Fear is the death of prayer because it is the opposite of faith. Most of my prayers, even well into midlife, were driven by my anxieties and fears.

I remember praying through our finances, and though we had enough to supply our needs for the present, I was concerned about the long term. I trusted him enough for today, but kept praying that he would do something to take my anxiety away for tomorrow. But God didn't want me to trust in my savings or the state lottery for security, he wanted me to trust in him.

What most enhances my relationship with Jesus is my ability to trust him, no matter what circ*mstance I'm in. He rarely answers prayers that ask him to fix my circ*mstances so that I can trust him less. His desire has always been that I would trust him more.

Prayers permeated with a faith-filled security in God's love and confidence in his character will be more effective than petitions for him to appease me. When I'm fearful, I've learned to pray first for my fear and for a fuller revelation of God's love before I pray for the specific outcome I might want. When I'm praying for others, I do the same.

4. Pray in agreement. I learned this fascinating aspect of prayer from a group of Christians in the Australian bush. The man leading the prayer meeting offered some unusual instructions:

When I'm fearful, I pray first to know God's love before I pray for the specific outcome I might want.

"Tonight as we pray, we're only going to pray for what we agree upon. If one of you feels led to pray over something, ask the group if that's something we all sense. If it is, we can pray in agreement. If not, we'll pass over it for now and move on to other requests." I asked him later why he gave the unusual instructions. He said they had learned that praying for someone can become a subtle form of manipulation.

"If a man is depressed, then others pray for him to be happy. He's pressured then to smile at the end of the prayer and say, 'Thanks. I feel better,' whether he does or not. Maybe he doesn't need to 'feel better' right now. Maybe he needs to learn to cling to God in the midst of suffering. You don't know unless you ask."

If the person being prayed for didn't agree or understand the insight, the prayer group would set it aside and see what others might have on their hearts. Often, they told me, two or three weeks after someone had declined to be prayed for in a certain way, he or she would return convinced that was just the prayer that was needed.

By asking permission of one another to pray in certain ways, these Australians were able to maintain a more authentic and honest form of prayer. They also had a chance to share insights and see what God might be saying. It gave them the freedom to pray with boldness when they knew that all were seeking the same thing.

5. Follow up. Nothing expresses our concern to someone in need more than following up with a phone call a few days later to see how they are doing and what might have happened after our prayer.

If nothing has seemed to have happened since, we can ask God for wisdom. Is he doing something else in this situation than we thought? Is he teaching us to persevere in what we started? Staying in the process until something is resolved will not only be a blessing in that instance, but will train us for future opportunities in prayer.

Philippians 4:6 invites us to make any request of God, but it does not tell us to expect him to answer each request the way we want. God is not our fairy godmother who waves a magic wand to conform every circ*mstance to our whim. Real prayer is the process of getting involved with someone's need, praying as best we understand God's work, and then staying in the situation until we see God act.

It is a risk to pray in that expectant way, but it can lead to some incredible prayers. One of Henri Nouwen's spiritual directors once prayed over him: "May all your expectations be frustrated. May all your plans be thwarted. May all of your desires be withered into nothingness that you may experience the powerlessness and poverty of a child and sing and dance in the love of God the Father, the Son, and the Spirit."

While I don't recommend praying that for someone you don't know well, here is someone who understood God's heart in prayer. Teaching people to move beyond their own agenda to touch the heart and passion of God will be a challenge, but it will deepen and enliven your prayer life.

Wayne Jacobsen a pastor for 20 years, is now director of Lifestream Ministries in Oxnard, California. www.lifestream.org.

Copyright © 2014 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

I emerged from the community center elated.

After our church had spent more than a year planning, praying, and discerning, I had finally signed the lease papers for our new meeting place. It would be a major move for our church of about 100. We were relocating from one of Sacramento's suburbs to the heart of the city. The community center was constructed in 1936 and continues to be a local treasure. As I exited I paused on the front veranda. The building sits in one of the city's iconic parks. Even in December the path was dotted with joggers.

As I started down the steps, I saw one of our parishioners. He spotted me, exited the running path, and ambled toward me. He asked what I was up to.

"I just signed our lease!" I exclaimed. "Can you believe it? This is actually happening!"

He remarked about how great a move this was for our church, but he seemed reserved, uncomfortable. Then he dropped a bombshell: "Maybe this isn't a good time to tell you this … but my family and I have decided to leave Sanctuary (our church). Actually, we are already committed to another church."

'Maybe this isn't a good time to tell you this … but my family and I have decided to leave the church.'

In a flash, my elation turned to anger. Not a good time? That was an understatement. As we continued to walk and talk, I did my best to be professional and conceal my bitterness. The conversation wound down to an awkward conclusion and he left. I stood there, suddenly feeling very alone in that bustling park. I shook my head over the absurdity of what had just taken place. Signing the lease was a huge event, and I had all of about two minutes to enjoy it.

In prayer on my way home, I came to an unsettling conclusion: this new mission was going to be contested every inch of the way. The two very different events I had just experienced would turn out to be symbolic. Punch, counterpunch.

I had no doubt, and still don't, that moving was the right decision. We sought God's will, heard from him, and followed his lead. But the transition has proven to be more wonderful and more painful than I could have imagined. We imagine that following God's leading will feel like a walk in the park. But often it feels more like a street fight. Discernment is hearing God say, "Go this way." But if he were to tell us what lay ahead, a lot of us would refuse to follow.

Unhurried but decisive

Moving had been in the air at Sanctuary before I became the pastor. The issue had been discussed but never settled. A year into my tenure, I felt God lead me to bring up the "location question" and deal with it. Aided by denominational experts, we entered an extensive discernment process. I stressed proceeding at "an unhurried but decisive pace." I preached a series of messages on seeking God's will in big decisions. We called the decision "Sanctuary's Big Adventure."

We determined that we would wait on God like the believers did in Acts 13. We fasted and prayed. We looked for how God had shaped our church. We examined what we were passionate about and what we were good at. We listened for the whispers of God. We talked about what it meant to be surrendered to God's will.

We voted in stages, and every vote was more than 90 percent in favor of moving to midtown/downtown Sacramento. This mirrored what was in my heart. I felt the diversity and creativity in midtown/downtown culture was a better fit for me personally.

After six months in the discernment process, we took a "vote of intention" that formally empowered our leadership team to find a meeting place. What we didn't know at the time was that a woman in East Sacramento was praying for a church to move into Clunie Community Center in McKinley Park, which is located on the edge of midtown. She was one of the members of a local neighborhood association that was taking over management of the Clunie Center, and they needed an anchor tenant. By the time we had negotiated our lease, we felt strongly that we were the church she had been praying for. The whole move had a providential feel to it.

Along the way, I became convinced that an "unhurried but decisive pace" was ideal for pursuing God's will in a big decision. In our excitement it was tempting to rush ahead, but the more we repeated the words "unhurried but decisive pace," the easier it was to live by them.

'This has nothing to do with you.'

On January 6, 2013, with great excitement, we held our inaugural service at Clunie. The main ballroom had so much personality it hardly needed any dressing up. After years in a cold but functional multipurpose school room, we now had old wood floors beneath our feet and period chandeliers over our heads. That Sunday morning felt alive with celebration and optimism.

Then the celebration ended.

Three days later a 42-year-old woman from our congregation died suddenly of complications from a routine surgery. We careened from elation to shock and grief. Our second Sunday in the new building, I preached on mourning. The following evening we held a memorial service.

We listened for the whispers of God. We talked about what it meant to be surrendered to God's will.

Those first days in Clunie foreshadowed how the entire first year would go. All year we bounced between euphoria and pain.

There was a lot to celebrate. We had a steady flow of visitors, and some of them stayed. We started connecting with the local community. A handcrafted metal marquee with four signs was installed on the front of the building: city councilman, neighborhood association, chamber of commerce, and our church. That sign symbolized how we wanted to be present in our new mission field.

Our missional efforts were highlighted by a December music show. We partnered with the neighborhood association and brought in more than a dozen musicians and vocalists from Sacramento's music scene to perform Christmas songs. Beyond bringing holiday cheer, the show raised funds for a local school for homeless children where we have a growing relationship.

When something wonderful like the Christmas music show happened, it introduced new discernment questions. What should we do with a new success? What might God be saying through it? The temptation is to hurry and start up a church program. But we have found that sticking to our "unhurried but decisive pace" philosophy helps guard against making rash decisions.

Alongside wonderful developments, 2013 was marked by congregational pain. Over the year we lost about 40 percent of the people we moved with, including many of our core individuals and families. Several relocated to other states and countries. Others decided Sanctuary had finally made its move, and now they were making theirs. Nearly all these folks had voted in favor of relocating. They thought Sanctuary was better off in the new location, but they chose not to participate in the mission. Many of those people left for larger churches with more robust programs. Those departures felt like storm waves relentlessly slamming into the side of our vessel. And every wave meant we had fewer hands to help steady the ship.

I remember having coffee with one of the departing parishioners. More than once she said, "This has nothing to do with you. We think you're a great pastor." I would hear these words so many times over the year, but they were cold comfort. I didn't want a pat on the back as they left us; I wanted them to stay and help us pursue the mission!

In those months, I had many 3:00 a.m. conversations with God. "I didn't mind taking the risk to follow you. But if this church fails, I don't think I can go on in ministry."

When I did sleep, it was fitful. One morning I awoke from a nightmare in which I was riding on the front of an SUV because the inside was packed with people. We were on a high mountain road, going around a hairpin turn. The vehicle suddenly plunged straight over the cliff.

During this season, the church was in almost constant crisis. Right and left, long-time members were torn from our close-knit community. Our leadership team began to feel the strain, and more than one of our meetings devolved into collective hand-wringing.

I tried to maintain a "non-anxious presence," but at times I cracked too.

Collective anxiety hampered our ability to discern God's will in several ways.

That Sunday morning felt alive with celebration and optimism. Then the celebration ended.

First, the more anxious we grew, the more we focused on saving the church rather than abiding in God's presence. This threatened to force us into bad decisions.

Second, the more desperate I grew about Sanctuary's situation, the more I wanted to attract attention to our church rather than to Jesus. "We are this. We are that. Join us!" I noticed how quickly

pastoral insecurity breeds a look-at-us syndrome. A church looking at itself is not looking at its Lord.

Third, I struggled with an ongoing temptation to scurry around the edges of the flock looking for straying sheep rather than walking ahead confidently on the trail God laid out for us. I learned that if people are going to leave, they are going to leave. A pastor is best off paying close attention to the voice of the "great Shepherd," not obsessing about the sheep.

The God of 'Neither'

Recently a particular scene from Scripture has shed new light on our ability to discern God's will. In Joshua 5, the people of Israel had crossed the Jordan and were poised to attack Jericho. The people had made all preparations and celebrated Passover. The manna God had been providing for 40 years ceased. It was as if everything stopped and even the land itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the battle to come.

One day Joshua sees a man standing in front of him with a drawn sword. No doubt reaching for his own weapon, Joshua challenged the man, "Are you for us or for our enemies?" The man replied, "Neither.

I come to you as the commander of the Lord's army" (Josh 5:13-14).

What a sobering moment. If anyone had reason to think God was on "our side," it was Joshua. He was leading God's chosen people into battle. He had heard God promise he would be with the Israelites.

"Neither?" Imagine his shock. With one word, Joshua's theological walls came tumbling down. He learned that the Almighty transcends our categories.

I'll be honest. Our leaders and I have spent a lot of time approaching God as if he is on our side. We laid everything on the line to follow him, and we sought assurances that Sanctuary would be "successful." But I wonder if this "our side" thinking can cause us to become too preoccupied with our church's interests and lose sights of God's broader kingdom. "Neither" is a word that leads us to total surrender, and surrender frees the heart to discern God's will. Otherwise we end up gilding "our side" with glistening spiritual language and worshiping it as an idol.

I noticed how quickly pastoral insecurity breeds a look-at-us syndrome. A church looking at itself is not looking at its Lord.

"Neither" opens us up to possibilities we might otherwise not entertain. At Sanctuary, one of those possibilities has been church closure. At the end of last year, we had to slash our budget by nearly a quarter. Financially speaking, it put our backs against the wall.

Ironically, dealing openly with the possible end of Sanctuary actually eased our fears. We looked into the menacing face of church closure, and we didn't break and run.

We were able to let go. Our leaders said, "If this is our final season together, we're okay with that. We just want to know we did everything God asked of us."

After we completed the budget, we were surprised at what followed: a few rays of sunshine. Somehow I felt a new sense of confidence and momentum. I asked our leaders, "Does anyone else feel that?" To a person, they had all noticed something, but no one had verbalized it. There might be a few more attenders, and giving might be a smidgen higher. But we believe the sunlight is emanating from above not below. The God of "neither" is shining on us.

New possibilities also include fresh fruit in God's kingdom. Not long after we moved from the suburb to the city, women from a recovery house about 10 blocks from the community center started walking to church on Sunday mornings. Their program doesn't require them to attend church; they just began showing up of their own accord. These women are hungry for God. We have seen God touch one heart after another as women cycle through the program and our church. Recently one of our leaders said, "If the only reason we moved to this part of town was for God to change one of these women's lives, it was worth it." The freedom of "neither" is taking hold.

In Sanctuary's recent journey, following God has meant traveling a path of surprises both wonderful and painful. Our shared commitment to ongoing discernment necessitates that we continually practice being a community of "neither" – a community surrendered to the wisdom and will of God. It requires constant vigilance because, as we have experienced, both the wonderful and the painful exert pressure to take matters into our own hands. Surrender opens us up for discernment, but even discernment is not an end in itself. The point of discerning the will of God is to do it. As Jesus said, "Blessed are those who hear the word of the Lord and obey it" (Luke 11:28).

T. David Beck is pastor of Sanctuary Covenant Church in Sacramento, California, and author of Luminous: Living the Presence and Power of Jesus (IVP, 2013).

Copyright © 2014 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

When I was a kid there was a story circulating (almost certainly apocryphal) about a young man caught in a dilemma. He knew two equally promising young women, but couldn't decide which to marry. One of the women was named "Joy."

To be truly discerning, we have to accept that knowledge and training are not enough.

As the story went, he cried out for the Lord's help, then flipped open his Bible, which happened to open to Isaiah 55:12: "You shall go out with Joy … "

He had his answer.

Like I said, probably not a true story, but you can see its appeal. If only our quandaries were so easily solved.

For the most part, of course, they're not. They require discernment.

What is discernment?

Encyclopedia.com defines discernment as "perception in the absence of judgment."

In other words, when there's no set ruling on a topic, no clear instruction telling us what to do, that's when we need discernment.

Some decisions can be made no discernment required.

Should I love my neighbor? Should I be faithful to my spouse? Must I love the Lord with all my soul, heart, and strength?

Yes, yes, and yes. And I don't even have to pray about it! God's Word is explicit.

Other questions aren't answered by flipping open your Bible. Should I take that job in Denver or the one in New York? Should I live in the city or the suburbs? Should I rent or own?

For leaders, discernment is even more crucial because our ability to discern affects others.

There is no formula for developing discernment, but Scripture gives us clues for how discernment can be honed. The writer of Hebrews talks about reserving the "solid food" for those who "have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice" (5:14).

We may think of discernment only as a gift, something that drops from the heavens, but apparently it is something that develops through "constant practice." But lest we become too confident in our efforts, Paul reminds us that "things of the Spirit of God," are "spiritually discerned" (1 Corinthians 2:14).

So discernment is more than a natural faculty. It has a spiritual dimension. It requires being sensitive to God, alive to his Spirit.

Time and again, I've heard of leaders who make decisions that seem to defy logic and go against their natural emotions—but ultimately turn out to be the right call. Why? Because the Spirit was leading. And they listened.

To truly be discerning, we have to accept that knowledge and training aren't enough. We must be open to God's supernatural leading. We must be receptive to the gentle nudges of the Spirit, confessing that our natural abilities are ultimately inadequate—even as we try to grow them through constant practice.

Drew DyckManaging Editor

Copyright © 2014 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.