About Church Humility
Recently, my husband and I were talking with our friend, a pastor at a local church, about our ideas of hell (maybe one day I’ll share my journey on this). My husband and I shared how our present views and beliefs of hell don’t align with what we grew up hearing, and were both surprised to hear our friend say he’s come to a similar conclusion.
Never one to shy away from asking hard questions, my husband asked, “Really? Would you be comfortable saying that from the pulpit?”
Our friend shook his head. “No,” he started, “because everyone in our congregation is at different points of their faith journey, ya know? I wouldn’t want to be a hindrance.”
As the words landed, they didn’t sit right with me. Before I could fully unravel why, the conversation shifted to something else. It wasn’t until the following day that I reflected on what it was about his words that didn’t agree with me.
Why would what you say from the pulpit be so damning to someone’s faith journey?
At face value, the answer to that question seems obvious. Hello, Crissy, if they’re the leader of the church, what they say holds a lot of power. They need to speak carefully and understand they have a lot of influence.”
Yeah…but why, though?
I mean, why should what the pastor or leader of a church says matter more than what anybody else in the church says? Why should someone who is, for example, new to the faith, be so heavily rocked by what the pastor says? Why is the culture more conducive to, “Oh, the pastor said it, and that’s not what I believe, so I must be wrong” rather than, “Oh, the pastor said it, and that’s not what I believe, so let me go talk to them”?
All these thoughts and questions made me think about church humility and church vulnerability. Why do pastors feel such immense pressure to say the right thing? Is it fair for them to think that what they say could shatter (pardon the dramatics) someone’s faith journey? Why do people in the church hold what the pastor says in such high regard that it could shake them so intensely? That seems like a whole lot of pressure to put on the pastor, or any other church leader. Surely it’s clear that they, like everyone they’re serving, are human and therefore, subject to imperfection.
Right?
Maybe not. Maybe humility and vulnerability, the simple act of saying, “I don’t know” or “I don’t have an answer for that” or “This is what I believe…how does that compare to what you believe?” is something missing from the church. In fact, maybe it’s something missing from many other areas of leadership, which is a huge shame. Humility and vulnerability are incredible avenues for creating safety, trust, and connection between people. What better place for this kind of deep relationship building than the church?
My husband asked me to try and think about a time when I heard a pastor say something really vulnerable, a time when I heard them admit to wrongdoing or struggle. I racked my brain and couldn’t come up with a single example. Now, that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been one (my memory is far weaker than my husband gives me credit for), but I simply can’t remember. He continued to share with me a time (years ago) when our former youth pastor, now close friend, admitted to being at a beach in a European country and having to consciously look away from women in bathing suits. This simple acknowledgment struck my husband. He found it profound. He found it comforting. He found it inclusive. Here was this man, this spiritual leader, sharing a struggle of his that, I’m sure, many of the people listening to him had in common. Rather than causing a spiritual kerfuffle, it was a moment of connection (for my husband, at least). It was a moment where my husband lowered his defenses and saw an invitation for further vulnerability and relationship with this friend. How powerful and beautiful.
I wonder what it is that prevents this kind of openness from being more common in the church. Or, maybe it is more common than I realize. I fully recognize that my lack of experience with this does not mean it doesn’t exist – I’m not that naive.
And I hope it exists. I hope it exists in droves. I hope it exists for the sake of the pastors and the members of the congregation. I hope it exists for the future of deep, spiritual connections. I hope it exists for the promise of a more equitable relationship between those in positions of power and those they influence.
