| It was an exciting church plant. We imagined: theology that we’d really live out, deep fellowship, and a worship band you’d buy tickets to hear. But as we rushed towards greatness, we tripped on a small stone: what time should the church service be?
The pastor sat in a circle with about fifty of us laypeople.He said that in our community, every voice mattered. We wouldn’t just vote, letting the majority rule. We’d reach consensus. It was the way of love, he explained, the way of Jesus.
I latched onto this idea. It fueled my ideals of Christian practice that contrasted with the world. In a world of competition and inequality, the church would shine by virtue of how its members loved one another. The world would see the “perfect love” described in 1 John 4:18-19 when we fought for agreement and unanimity.
After a few hours of not-reaching-consensus, the pastor said we’d go around the circle. Service at ten in the morning — yes or no. Every person said “yes,” except for one. The dissenter had a good reason for saying “no.” They’d have to pick between the church and their job. Other people pointed out they’d have to make adjustments as well. The dissenter didn’t budge. Evening became nighttime, and people just had to go home.
The pastor tried to talk with the dissenter, but they felt pressured, got angry, and left. The rest of us moved on, gathering without the one who had been a part of us. It didn’t feel good. It certainly wasn’t perfect love.
The pastor talked with all of us about why he had seen consensus as such a good idea, and he humbly explained what he learned about why it didn’t work. He wasn’t the only person to propose new methods for decision-making, and the church tried more than one before settling on a workable process.
Seeing a pastor move through the full arc of risk, failure, and recalibration helped launch a church with a culture of creativity: innovations in local service, music, prayer, and building use. Some ideas worked and some fell flat. We learned to expect that and to keep moving toward God, together — I learned that it isn’t up to me or my church to love perfectly. Our efforts are rooted in God’s love for us, a love we can depend on even when our best efforts fall short.
Where in your own leadership could you take a risk, trusting that God’s love will sustain you no matter how things turn out?
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