Community: Weathering
Crosscurrents
TRUE SUBMISSION NEVER DIMINISHES TRUE PERSONHOOD.
IT IS NOT A PASSIVE, MINDLESS RESPONSE TO WHATEVER IS SAID,
BUT A CONSCIOUS CHOICE OF A WILLFUL SURRENDER TO DIVINE LOVE.
Jack Hayford, Taking Hold of Tomorrow
For me, the years 1960-1962 were a loosening of the sense of mandated direction. I began to feel that I had done about as much as I could in Berkeley; I didn't have any further strong sense of responsibility or commitment. The facilities were under way, the mission program was maintaining the same high level of giving, and the financing of the new educational building was reasonably secure. If there was ever to be a time to make a move to another congregation, this would be it.
In the winter of 1960 I was flying over Panama after an overseas mission in South America when it suddenly came to me clearly and distinctly. I was struck with the awareness that there were only two spots in the whole world that I felt would be of comparable challenge to me
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after the great experiences I had enjoyed in Berkeley. Number one would be the Evangelical Union Church in São Paulo, Brazil. It was one of the most unusually well-attended Union churches in the world. It had a strong evangelical emphasis, and it occurred to me that a ministry there would open an opportunity for me to begin to work with American personnel. They, in turn, would begin to bear their witness and perhaps disciple Christians in the secular fields of their own calling. The other great possibility would be the University Presbyterian Church in Seattle, pastored by my old teammate at Princeton, David Cowie. I knew Dave was having some thoughts about returning to Southern California.
Storm Clouds
I discovered the church in São Paulo had called another man and was well under way with its new pastor, so that door was closed. That left Seattle. Within a year David Cowie resigned accepting a call in Southern California.
I felt it was time for me to move on and, in fact, had a certain fear I had perhaps already stayed too long. I had seen this happen with some of my colleagues in ministry. It would have been easy just to hang on without any strong sense of commission or mission, but I sensed storm clouds were looming ominously over the Berkeley horizon and in other parts of the country, because of the escalating awareness and reality of social injustice, racial problems and other glaring challenges facing American society at large. I knew trouble lay ahead. Would I be able to shift from our strong emphasis on mission overseas to give more attention to the immediate issue of our neighbors?
I was becoming aware of what now, in current language, is called the cultural mandate. I thought often of how we were given a mandate at the very beginning of time, when God introduced the first pair. Adam and Eve were told both to cultivate the Garden and to express the will of God in their relationships with one another and with nature. With mounting ecological problems, the social challenges and other issues
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that were coming to the fore, I knew we would have to respond to that twofold responsibility.
I also sensed there would soon be no peace in Berkeley.
In that changing social context, did I have the spiritual strength and God-given dedication to lead the church, maintain our commitment to overseas missions — and at the same time enthusiastically lead the congregation into understanding the more sensitive political issues which the social causes presented? If I chose to captain the ship around those rocks and shoals, I knew it would be tough. Perhaps that is why I felt I would rather leave Berkeley while everything was harmonious and at a high level of unity than face the inevitable conflict that might well cause trouble for my closest associates and trusted leaders.
The Struggle
I prayed about what to do, trying to get God's guidance, but I received no spiritual mandate. In the times of extreme stress that would come later in Seattle, I often wondered whether I had really listened to God or whether I had simply taken the easy way out of the challenges of Berkeley, particularly when the church there was forced to confront so many crises after I left. Berkeley graciously offered me a sabbatical, but if I had accepted it — I certainly needed it — that would have closed the door to Seattle. Still, all things considered, I knew Seattle would be the one place where I might be able to serve the Lord with my background of experience in a university community.
The Seattle church had an ideal location. Just as Berkeley had been a block or so away from the University of California campus, University Presbyterian Church was located within one block of the University of Washington. It was a church with a citywide influence. Berkeley was essentially a suburban community — a suburb of San Francisco, a part of the Bay Area mosaic. Seattle was a unity, and University Church was certainly the most influential in the city. Moreover, it had first-class facilities and equipment. I knew I would be greeted with a recently built sanctuary,
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in many ways one of the newest and finest in the city. The church also had quality parishioners and a marvelous evangelical heritage.
It seemed so logical that Edie and I should make the move to the Northwest. The people were genuine, though more conservative both socially and politically than their counterparts in California. The church also had civic leadership of importance. Arthur Langley, a member of the church, had been in the renewal movement of the city of Seattle and had been its mayor for two terms. He later served a full term as U.S. senator. He was an earnest Christian, committed to the Lord and of great influence in the city and the church. The church was also a flagship mainline church among denominational churches. There were so many reasons why the Seattle congregation offered unlimited opportunity for ministry.
And so, when the pastoral search committee contacted me and told me I was their top choice, I did not hesitate. We packed up and moved to Seattle.
The weekly attendance was about two thousand in the two morning services. (During the latter part of the sixties, when student alienation was peaking, we still maintained the attendance and the membership actually increased.) The Sunday-morning service was televised, broadening the church's visibility and ministry. Pollsters estimated that approximately seventy-five thousand people viewed the services each week, the majority of whom were not Presbyterians or even Protestants. There were large numbers of Catholics, Jews and nonchurch people who apparently were asking, "What goes on inside a Protestant church on Sunday morning?" They saw what was going on at the large, public Billy Graham crusades and on the programs produced by highly specialized radio and TV evangelists. But what happens in an ordinary Protestant service?
Lonely at the Top
As I settled in at University Church, I discovered many exciting doors
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beginning to open for me as the leader of one of the strongest churches in the nation. I was thrust out of suburban and into civic ministry at a time of major civil unrest and widespread social change. My position as pastor put me on center stage both nationally and locally.
However, I was without the network of spiritual encouragement and fellowship I had enjoyed in California. I also found it difficult to get close to many of my fellow pastors. Many were reticent about sharing their own lives with me. I know how they felt, because that's how I had felt in South Hollywood early in my ministry, with so many large churches surrounding me. Although there were the inevitable problems, looking back, I experienced the Seattle congregation as composed of gracious, loving, concerned, supportive and patient people — perhaps more patient than I.
Sudden Social, Cultural and Spiritual Changes
Although I had seen signs of social unrest coming, it broke with an intensity of force for which I was not fully prepared. I had much to learn about the issues and how to handle them. The sixties were rough weather for all traditional institutions — governmental, religious and educational.
More serious than this element of unrest was the students' rejection of the values and traditions of their parents and of the past. I will not attempt an analysis of the causes of this phenomenon. There are many reasons for it, but I think one could build quite a solid case that the benign neglect and permissiveness of some parents during the fifties were a contributing factor. Parents were busy finding their own future in their business and work. It had been a great time for prosperity and opportunity, for the building of homes and the establishment of communities. The postwar economy was booming, and people were prospering. But the children were often being neglected, and the values of their parents — material values — were fast losing their appeal. Swiss psychologist Paul Tournier said that while the parents were gaining in
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affluence and security, the children were finding that possessions alone often led to a life without meaning or value. Children often suffered from a lack of time and love rather than a lack of money. They were given money, education and an overabundance of comfort, but they were left with little of the legacy of meaning and purpose for living. Tournier deduced that because of their inner rage, youth began to turn against their parents.
The "Lost" Generation
Though I had experience working with the Berkeley School Board of Education on surrounding social challenges, I was surprised by the rapidity of change and the force of these even greater social upheavals in Seattle. You can imagine how the much more conservative people of the Northwest felt when the student change hit them.
The issues confronting us came in waves: racial discrimination, Martin Luther King Jr.'s marches, open-housing issues, the intensity of resistance and the growing awareness of the injustices in both the racial and social situations. To that was added the trauma of the war in Vietnam, including student concern with the draft and its implications.
Widespread social unrest was filling up our plates, and it was giving us collective indigestion. The alienation of truly thoughtful, discerning young people came to a crescendo with the assassination of President John Kennedy, his brother Bobby and then Martin Luther King Jr. The effect of these tumultuous events upon the students was so traumatic that some have called the student population of the sixties "the Lost Generation." But perhaps they were more left than lost. Left to their own devices without a moral rudder to guide them into the rough waters of social change.
Now that the generation that preceded them, and the strong, assertive leadership that has dominated the evangelical Christian movement since the war, is now reaching retirement age, we are forced to ask the question: Who will stand in the leadership gap as we move into the
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twenty-first century? The question is, does the second generation, which should now be in prime leadership positions, have either the quality of conviction or the gifts of leadership that the previous generation held? Leighton Ford, in much of his writing, encourages those who are leaders today to become aware of what is lacking and to do what they can to help develop strong, new leadership for the next generation.
Souls and Justice
My concern in this book is to move even farther down to the fourth generation, to those potential leaders who are now in their late twenties and early thirties. We must give these men and women the training and mentoring they need so they will be able to develop their full maturity and strength. This new generation must know that Christianity is — and always has been — two-legged. It must walk on both feet: with love for people's souls and with a burning concern for people's rights and privileges. We need to love our neighbors — and we need to care for them as Christ cares.
Without justice, people cannot feel Christian love. An African-American pastor once said to me, "You white Christians say that you love us black people, but how can I accept your love when you are standing on my feet and when you are stomping on my toes?" Those words hurt then, and they hurt now, because they continue to be true on all levels of the social structure today, just as they were for me as I began my ministry in Seattle.
A Severe Test of My Navigational Competence
Though not as large a church (there were three thousand members in Berkeley and four thousand in Seattle), Berkeley was united in purpose and mission. The Seattle congregation, with its multiplied programs and its diversity of viewpoints, was not nearly as unified a fellowship. I now realize I could have worked harder the first few years simply to win the confidence of the congregation and not pushed so fast and hard to
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accomplish my own agenda. I could have been more patient, loving and supportive. I could have listened more intently and wisely to people — staff included — before I began to tell them what my vision was.
The key lesson I learned in Seattle was this: People do not follow their leaders until they learn to trust them. I was a different personality from my predecessor. I was more reserved and depended a great deal more on the individual initiative of the leaders and session officers. I just said, "Here's an idea — let's look at it together." Instead, I could have been asking "Where are you on this? and "What do you feel you need?" before I began to give them what I felt they needed. My spiritual 20/20 vision is so much better these many years later. Perhaps you have the same challenge in your life.
The demanding weekly television ministry, radio, preaching, teaching and administrative duties all kept coming at me full force in this new setting. At times, I felt I was drowning in an ocean of people, much as I had felt so overwhelmed by the tempestuous seas those many years ago. But I did not take the challenge personally. All pastors were in trouble, I would argue with myself. All leaders were experiencing the same tensions. All Christian leaders, in a sense, were seeing the church support everywhere beginning to fade because of the the multiple problems in society. Nobody could win 100 percent support, I reckoned. I was a great analyzer. Strong left brain. Not so good at taking personal responsibility for what was happening all around me.
Unexpected Challenges
I wish I could convince all those thinking of Christian leadership of the importance of this key truth: The church is more than a believing organization; it is a spiritual organism. Its life, vitality and purpose are fulfilled through personal relationships.
Indeed! It is the body of Christ. Every true believer is "in Christ" and is designed to function as a member of his body, intimately relating to him, the Head, and to other Christians as fellow members.
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Consider how our bodies function. All members, such as the hand or foot, are related to the head and respond to impulses generated from the brain. But the impulse travels from the head through the arm to the hand by innumerable connections. There's an upper arm and there's a lower arm. Bone is joined to bone and served by attached tendon. In turn, the tendons are connected to muscles, and the muscles are fed by vessels conveying warm blood from the one beating heart. The complex system is controlled by a connection of nerve endings which instantly obey the directions of the head, telling the hand and fingers and arm and the rest of the body to make the desired moves. Every member and every function are mutually supported and helped by all the others. A member is helpless without fellow members and body connections.
In a spiritual sense, the body is quickened with life received through Christ by new birth through faith. Growth comes through feeding on the Word of God (Matthew 4:4), and strength is produced by doing the will of God (Acts 5:22) and rejoicing in the grace and love of God (Ephesians 5:20). The body also needs personal food and nourishment. We can't get along without it. The blood purifies the body and provides a cleansing effect to carry away the impurities from the cells and vessels.
So the blood of Jesus Christ also imparts strength to the body of believers and provides for ongoing purification. In like manner, as body members we need to confess our sins to one another to experience the full cleansing of the Spirit of God.
German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer makes this clear when he says we need to have some significant person who is there with us to affirm us and give us the assurance of absolution, to remind us that we can indeed to in peace, knowing we are forgiven by God. Is this the inner spirit at work? Yes, but that same body needs the outer words of a significant, trusted Christian brother or sister.
In Seattle I came to see the building of relationships and the full development of these "body life" principles as my primary learning experiences. A new situation with urgent needs calls for new approaches.
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I am told it takes miles of slow circling to change the direction of a huge tanker or battleship. It cannot respond to the helm quickly, due to its tremendous weight and size. Similarly, a large congregation does not turn around, change its attitudes and respond to new leadership easily or quickly.
That is why, when leadership is delegated and shared, it is essential that the pastor and his associates agree and cooperate on purpose, priorities and program. In Berkeley, the new staff person would need to adjust to a well-established direction and to me as the senior pastor. In Seattle I was the newcomer, and I wasn't fully aware of the importance of making an effort to understand people's feelings, their convictions and their attitudes toward my goals and objectives. I had carefully reviewed the guidelines with the search committee and session, and I felt, with God's help, that we would be a good match.
I found time together with the other pastors on staff and our program directors to be an invaluable way of building deep-level personal and spiritual relationships. We met Tuesday mornings for two hours and continued after lunch for another hour. I also endeavored to meet for thirty minutes each week with the staff members, giving them an opportunity to share what was on their own mind and hearts. I wanted the staff to tell me how I could best support them. I'd never felt administrative work was my strength, but this was one way for me to use my abilities to serve as a bridge to bring the staff together in mind and heart. That association with my staff was indeed a congregational lifesaver during the many crucial moments of the tempestuous sixties.
The Cry for Relationships
In spite of the excellence of our music, the creativity of our programs and the comfortable new facilities, many of the newer members drifted out of touch with the church. The lost lambs needed to be found, then folded into a close-knit, loving relationship to be fed and nurtured, as church-growth studies make clear. However, our church lacked a good
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system of enfolding and integrating new believers into the life of the congregation.
What was true for the newer members was also a need in the hearts of the old-timers. They, too, needed encouragement and opportunities to renew their relationships with one another, to share what was happening to them and to go deeper in their relationship with God. We needed one another. Though they would see each other in formal worship and in numerous church activities, there was neither the openness nor the honesty of close, trusting relationships which could allow people to warm each other's lives with the love of God. A turning point in my own understanding of this subject occurred through reading Bonhoeffer's Life Together. The application of the last two chapters of this seminal book became basic in my endeavor to achieve open, honest, forgiving, cleansing relationships in the body of Christ.
At the same time I was discovering the openness of relationship in Scripture. There was no tape recorder in the wilderness at the time of Jesus' temptation, so he must have shared with the disciples how he had been tested by the enemy, by the devil himself, for forty days and forty nights. And again, going into the garden of Gethsemane before the cross, he spoke out in great anguish when he cried, "Father, let this cup pass from me," as tears overcame him. Jesus knew and allowed others to know his inner suffering and pain even as he communicated his deepest feelings with the Father. His words from the cross echoed for all to hear as he unashamedly cried, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
So I took a risk and began to venture into this more vulnerable, open style in my preaching and teaching, and later in small groups. Almost immediately I began to experience its liberating, cleansing power.
A Pastor Shares His Struggles
I am convinced everybody is carrying burdens, hurts and frustrations. Even the most exuberant and seemingly secure, satisfied individual may
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be covering inner pain, distress, even discouragements and doubts — he or she is not being fully honest. The strongest witness Christians can give to the reality of Jesus Christ comes when they disclose to nonbelievers that they too are struggling to stay above water in the circumstances and trials of life. At the same time, believers can give witness to the amazing love of a God who forgives them and is with them in the struggle, offering strength and help.
In my own preaching toward the end of the Seattle period, I was beginning to let people know that I was with them in the struggle and needed their prayers and help just as they needed the Lord and one another. That principle was further verified later in the faith renewal teams at Fuller Seminary, where this relational approach became the vehicle through which personal testimony was presented in various congregations with honest, real, long-lasting effect.
One of the basic lessons on the unity of the leadership of the church is that the fellowship of believers must have honest, candid, vulnerable one-on-one relationships. We began by designating constructive approaches that brought unity to the body of the session during the time of extreme social crisis. This was especially effective when we were confronted with radical, secular students — even our own young people — who were espousing extreme ideas on sex and social issues that rapidly brought division between the two segments of the church: youth on one side, adults on the other.
Some Encouraging Responses
Even though my own personal enthusiasm may have been premature and even misunderstood, I knew there was a deep need for personal relationships with Christ and with each other as we encountered great opportunities to fulfill the Great Commission. Before long, the emphasis upon small groups made an immense contribution to the spiritual
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growth of our congregation. We started rather slowly with this program, because we knew that, for some, being vulnerable to peers would be difficult, if not painful. Prayer and prayer groups had always been the focal point of my own ministry, from the days of Forest Home and the indelible influence of Henrietta Mears. I knew praying and sharing were essential for ministry, and I always endeavored to make them a part of my personal and church life. But the atmosphere of the sixties was creating such a different social backdrop that, for some reason, praying at this level of intimacy was becoming increasingly difficult for me. There was also some resistance to the small-group approach, because there had been certain abuses of small home-centered prayer meetings let by people with ideas contrary to the direction of the former pastor. Those experiences had engendered considerable distrust of prayer groups in general.
In the second year we established "Know and Grow" groups. To know Christ and to grow in him, we said, it was necessary to know each other and to grow in our relationships with each other. In the course of time, the Faith at Work approach was a great help to us, giving us the insights we were looking for. The human potential movement, current in the secular field, was also widely emphasized in our small groups. However, these sessions on occasion would go too far in their endeavor to strip people of their defenses. Always a danger — both then and today. But we did emphasize sharing. We asked questions such as "How are you doing? Where are you hurting? How can we help you? What have you learned this week in your walk with God? What would you like to know in order to be more effective in your walk with him?" This was all bathed in honest, from-the-heart prayer for one another.
During the last years of my ministry in Seattle, we were all blessed with the presence of Roberta Hestenes, who joined our staff to help us emphasize interpersonal relationships with the Scriptures as the central force. This sensitive, brilliant woman developed an effective ministry of neighborhood Bible studies which became a solid outreach to the
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neighbors of our church members. Leaders were developed in Roberta's own inductive Bible study groups and then challenged to join with at least one other member, after which the two of them would invite neighbors to examine the primary sources of information about Jesus Christ. So many were interested in Jesus, but few knew much about him. So members of these small groups would simply say something like, "Suppose the two of us meet together once a week to take a look at the Gospel of Mark [or whatever book they were studying] and see who this person Jesus really is and why so many feel he is God." Soon the leadership would be passed on with proper materials to one of the new people, so that the method could be shared not just by one person but by all in the group.
This was not a fellowship group, but a Bible study designed to arrest and deepen the interest of non-Christians who were friends of members of the church and eager to know more about the claims of Christ. From day one, Roberta's leadership made this program a great success. In time there were dozens of small groups meeting at homes or in the church. God blessed that ministry in ways none of us could have predicted.
During my last year in Seattle, I ventured an early-morning group with graduate students and recent grads from the university, to discuss in advance the subjects of my sermons. I invited the students to come and give their feedback on a passage of Scripture or a book of the Bible on which I was going to be preaching in the coming weeks. For example, I would take the book of Romans and ask the students, "If you were teaching this, how would you make it relevant to people today right here in Seattle? What does it mean to you, and how can it be applied to your own personal situation?"
It was a great experience for all of us. These students gave me a wealth of information and insights on how and what to preach. Before long, this weekly fellowship developed into a special support group in which these future leaders could share for personal prayer and counsel in areas where they were struggling with their Christian faith.
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Every Believer a Potential Leader
All these "relational" experiences focused my attention on what became another basic lesson about ministry that I learned in Seattle: Every true believer must be seen as a potential leader for Jesus Christ. Every member of the church should be seen as a potentially positive, mature, effective influence. Today every effort should be made by pastors to provide each man and woman with opportunity, encouragement and support in their growth, so they may be motivated to recognize and exercise their spiritual gifts.
For me, the breakthrough of this radical truth became a compelling certainty through my experience as teacher of the trainees in the Bethel adult Bible-training class. In 1965, I became aware of the need to provide a deeper biblical understanding for most of the congregation. I was led to take two weeks to go back to Madison, Wisconsin, to prepare myself to teach the Bethel Bible Series.
When I returned, I found the recruiting technique really worked. I was surprised when twenty-five adults committed to a program of four years in which they might well be involved with three modules each year: one fall, one winter, one spring, each seven weeks in duration. The commitment was so demanding that each teacher had to be highly motivated in his or her desire to teach the course. Perhaps it was my lack of faith, but I never dreamed that ordinary members of the church would have the motivation to give Bethel that kind of time and commitment. I found we often underestimate the eagerness and the ability of the average layperson to be available to serve the Lord. That was my first great discovery.
My second discovery was the enormous inherent ability of many of our members to develop significant leadership skills. The most prominent of these individuals certainly was Roberta Hestenes, who now had a worldwide reputation in the field of Christian formation and discipleship. Roberta came to me after one of our services in which I had presented the call for congregational members to become teachers in
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the Bethel series. She asked me whether women were permitted to teach the Bible classes. I said yes, and I referred her to an article on women in the life of the church which satisfied her that she, as a woman, could be trusted to teach adult men. That settled the matter. Interesting in today's context, isn't it?
Roberta was in the class no more than a month when I recognized that here was a woman who had more ability to teach and to grapple with biblical truth than I had. She was endowed with a most amazing, gifted heart and mind.
Roberta went from being a busy housewife with three little children to part-time and later full-time staff member. After earning a master's degree in communications from the University of Washington, she was called to Fuller Seminary to become one of the most creative Christian leaders not only at Fuller but across the nation. Along with her academic duties she continues to be master of the small-group method to encourage Christian nurture and maturity. She eventually went on to become president of Eastern College in Pennsylvania. She is also chairperson of World Vision's overseas department and continues to be at the heart of the small-group movement and evangelical leadership.
Shining Possibilities
When I eventually left Seattle for Fuller Seminary, it was with a strong desire to pursue the practical teaching of small-group dynamics and to train pastors to train laypersons as gifted, able men and women equipped for Christian service.
Again and again I recalled my early Christian roots as I sensed God's leading in a new direction. I especially remembered how Henrietta Mears would gather those hundreds of young people around her as she taught us, prayed with us and encouraged us. Henrietta fully expected that we would all respond and become effective servants of God. She viewed every one of us as shining possibilities. She believed in us. She had no doubt that with God's help we would have an effective ministry
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and mission. The supreme delights of her life were first to see young people come to know Jesus Christ as their Savior, Lord and eternal friend, and then to see these living possibilities present themselves to Jesus Christ and allow him to lead them on into his will and ministry. She gave further encouragement by reminding us that with out gifts and abilities we would be able to influence an entire world for Christ. Since that was her vision, she imparted this keen desire in her followers. To Henrietta Mears I owe a lifetime of honor, love and respect. Who knows what my perspective might have become had we not been brought together during those early years?
When, after seven and a half years at University Church, I realized it was time to move away from the Seattle ministry and carry what I could contribute toward the next generation of pastors being trained at Fuller, it was only natural that my fervent desire would be to help deepen the spiritual life of students. I now knew from experience that a solid spiritual development would stabilize their personal connection to Christ. I wanted to encourage them to maintain that relationship with the Father through koinonia - a sharing, caring fellowship and praying with others. They might be "professionals" in the strictest sense of one day hoping to become pastors, missionaries and church leaders. But in reality I would help them know that there is really no professional when it comes to being an alive, vibrant witness for Jesus Christ.
A Disturbing Question
We need to be reminded that Jesus began a lay movement. He himself was a carpenter. There was not a priest or Levite among the twelve disciples. There were a few professionals in the early church, such as the apostle Paul, but the cutting edge of church growth and leadership for the most part was carried out by the laity. Even slaves became bishops. Today, a similar pattern is emerging among Third World churches, where growth is so expansive there is no time for institutions to develop years of training. Of course we need education and professional
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competence. But we also need church members who have been taken seriously by their pastors — laypersons who are so thoroughly committed, motivated and instructed in the Word of God and his ways of ministry that they are able to cover all the bases of Christian service, both within the congregation and in communicating Christ outside the church.
The fact that so many pastors find themselves overworked, depressed, serving declining congregations, expected to perform a nonstop series of spiritual and administrative ministries all alone should in itself cause us to be aware that we have missed a basic biblical truth. Jesus gave time to develop his followers and lead them on into discipleship and ministry. The apostle Paul devoted his attention to his Timothys and Silases. His letters remind us how seriously he took all the members of the churches in his charge. If that is how this movement we now call Christianity began, why not make a special effort to recapture that first-century example and once again make our churches models for lay ministry and lay leadership?
Sunlight Floods the Seattle Ministry
During my last year in Seattle I saw a bumper sticker: "If God is not close to you, who has moved?"
Initially, even though I did not feel I had a strong mandate for ministry in Seattle, I did sense God close to me by his grace. But when it came to the freedom of the Spirit, to seeing God actively at work answering prayer and doing his mighty works, I felt some distance from the Father. It came to me that I had moved, not God.
In February 1967 an opportunity presented itself for me to have an hour with the great Christian leader John Stott of Great Britain. We were both addressing a pastors' conference at Mount Hermon. We had become acquainted some years before when he had preached for us in Berkeley. Now I had an opportunity to be with him. I simply shared with him frankly the tension I was feeling in Seattle and the feelings of my
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own failure to rise fully to the challenge of the ministry there.
He had a few questions and then listened some more until I had told my story. He then said, "Bob, let's pray." His prayer underlined the simple biblical truth that through the cross of Jesus Christ, he who confesses his sin is forgiven. He reminded me that it is the gift of faith in the grace and mercy of God's love, carried fully through by the offering of Christ himself, that makes us clean and whole. A genuine peace settled down on my heart. Whatever might be the future, I knew God had heard. I returned from that conference to face new opportunities in Seattle as they presented themselves, with a confidence that God was, as he had always been, with me and for me. He was still my light, and I was still simply to walk in that light.
Since then I have often reflected on the distance between God and me. Was it my eagerness to have the Seattle church? Was it my overconfidence in accepting the call with neither a mandate nor a clear, certain assurance that God would carry me through? That may have been part of it. Or was it a degree of theological drift? Perhaps. I confess that my years of close association with the academic community and its critical judgment of the supernatural had made me less confident in proclaiming boldly and emphatically the biblical view of God's salvation for humankind. Perhaps I had even trimmed the frightening truth that the lost are truly lost. A degree of reticence had hindered me from being as forthright in declaring the truth as the years went by. Was it the loss of the network of spiritual support I had enjoyed for so long in California? Or was it just plain burnout, having carried a major ministry without a sabbatical break?
Although the student problems and the radical social and political tensions of the militant sixties increased during my last two years in Seattle, I was experiencing a closer sense of confidence that God was ultimately in charge of everything and would work things out for his glory. In the life of the congregation, growing numbers of Bible studies, deepening relationships with Christ and one another, and the coming
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of Dick Langford as senior associate — with Roberta Hestenes ably handling Bethel — were strong evidences of God's presence and power in the midst of the intensity of the tensions in social and political matters. We felt the ferment of students against authority and all institutional traditions, which became a constant strong concern, yet in God's grace we found resolution.
By the time David Hubbard talked with me about teaching at Fuller Theological Seminary, I would be free to accept. My assignment in Seattle had been completed. Despite the weaknesses, both the church and I had grown and prospered — by God's grace.
Upon leaving Seattle, I felt the storms had been weathered, the ship was in good hands, and the future held great promise for University Presbyterian Church. Under Dr. Langford's leadership there followed a period of rest, restoration and the building of a remarkable ministerial team. His successor, Bruce Larson, ushered in an outburst of spiritual vitality, with an amazing number of members of all ages participating in various forms of ministry both within the congregation and to the world outside. A nonprofessional ministry developed there before our very eyes. In subsequent days God has done more within that congregation than I could have ever asked or thought. I thank him for the faithfulness of those who gave me such great encouragement during the difficult sixties.
Now, older and hopefully wiser, but for sure ever on the grow, Edie and I would head south to Pasadena and back to our spiritual roots in Southern California. Another layer of the onion had been peeled away, and, with more confidence than ever, I knew God was in control. I would now be privileged to participate in a "life together" with my new friends and colleagues at Fuller Seminary, the subject of chapter eight.
