Chapter 25

Willow Creek Community Church

Imagine a church that1

   This strategy defies conventional methods, admits Bill Hybels, the founding pastor of Willow Creek Community Church in South Barrington, Illinois a suburb thirty miles northwest of downtown Chicago.

   "Our goal is to reach and teach 'non-churched Harrys and Marys' who have been turned off by the traditional church and are about

Page 247

to write off Christianity," Hybels explains. "Seekers can be anonymous here. You don't have to say anything, sing anything, sign anything, or give anything."

   Willow Creek is one of the few churches in the nation shaped by a targeted "customer" survey. It is also a huge success: From a modest gathering of 125 people who first met in a rented movie theater in 1975, it has grown to become the nation's number two Protestant congregation in terms of weekend attendance. It is second only to Jack Hyles's independent First Baptist Church in Hammond, Indiana, which draws 15,000 to 30,000 attenders, depending on the season.2

   Church analysts see Willow Creek as a prototype for successful churches of the future unfamiliar with traditional worship, music, and teachings.

   The national religious magazine Guideposts named Willow Creek its 1989 Church of the Year "for meeting the needs of the 1990s by presenting timeless truth in a contemporary way."

   Hybels is rhapsodic about the church's future: "We're on the verge of making kingdom history," he proclaims, "doing things a new way for a whole new generation. People all over the nation are looking at Willow Creek and calling it the church of the 21st century."

   A simple explanation is that Willow Creek is cresting a high tide of growth that has swept up many evangelical churches during the past two decades. But it is Willow Creek's evangelism philosophy — rooted in its marketing survey, its dynamic pastor, and its 4,200 believers and 1,750 lay leaders — that has catapulted the independent congregation to the top. Espousing standard American Christianity, Willow Creek's statement of faith asserts the need for a personal conversion experience to Jesus Christ as Savior, the infallible authority of the Bible, and the obligation of believers to tell others about their faith.

   Sounds simple, but it requires lots of organization.

652 Parking Cones

   The church spends $75,000 a year just for traffic control, paying off-duty police to ease cars on and off busy Algonquin Road in the

Page 248

affluent Barrington-Palatine area. The church parking lot is so huge that signs marked with letters and numbers — airport style — were installed when members complained they couldn't find their cars after services.

   But there is more to handling the traffic monster that snakes along the winding access road than setting out the church's 652 parking cones and waving red flashlights. Since they make the first and last impression on church visitors, parking attendants are themselves an important part of the ministry. The motto for the large volunteer traffic safety team is "We get 'em first and we get 'em last."

   "The main reason we are doing this is for the Lord," explains coordinator Rob Shearer, who wears an orange windbreaker and barks instructions to his team over a walkie-talking as he surveys his kingdom from the church roof. "If the guy who's coming for the first time doesn't give us a thought, we're happy. We want to be inconspicuous. We are trying to get them into the church as quickly and safely as possible. We want people to remember what goes on inside, not outside. If we do that, God has been served."3

   "We are represented by extremely diverse personalities and backgrounds on our team," confided another traffic volunteer. "The common denominator that knits us close, however, is God's gifts of helps and hospitality. Put these two gifts together and you discover how God gives people the tenacity to withstand the worst of cold (or heat or rain) and the tenderness to give special accommodations to the handicapped, the elderly, or to single parents."4

   In fact, a specially designated area near the entrance is reserved for "single-parent parking." Children are abundant at Willow Creek. There are so many three-year-olds that nursery facilities are divided — those whose last names begin with A through L go to one room while the M's through Z's go to another.

   Willow Creek's colorful, precisely planned, multimedia services attract 1,000 new churchgoers every year. Last year 687 adults were baptized. And 1,800 members meet weekly in more than 200 small groups to study the Bible and pray.

   Everything about Willow Creek Church — from the plain but massive sign on the highway to the "neutral corporate setting" of the campus — is designed to "impress seekers with excellence but not

Page 249

ostentatiousness," says Hybels, who for five years was chaplain to the Chicago Bears football team.

"How We Do It" Seminars

   Church leaders throughout the nation and even overseas are taking notice of the Willow Creek model. Three times a year, up to 2,000 of them flock to Hybels' "how-we do-it" seminars. He walks pastors through his seven-step program to bring non-churched Harrys and Marys full circle. Then they themselves go out and recruit "non-churched Larry and Cheri," as Hybels puts it.

   In 1990, a team of nineteen Willow Creek leaders, including Hybels, held an "April in Paris" conference for 150 pastors, missionaries, and church planters from fourteen countries. The goal was to demonstrate how Willow Creek's approach might work in European cultures. "We are not coming here to establish Willow Creek clones or a denomination," declared Gilbert Bilezikian, a founder and former elder of Willow Creek.

   Added Hybels: "You are going to have to figure out how to crack the code of your own particular culture. We are just trying to give you some tools."5

   According to longtime trend watcher Lyle Schaller, the tool kit Hybels passes out seems to be just what's needed to jump start listless churches: a creative, imaginative pastor; extensive weekday programming; and greater emphasis on the teaching ministry of the church. Schaller also pointed to the radical reorientation of traditional Sunday services at Willow Creek as an example of what's typical for many growing megachurches.

   "They are more attractive, less boring, more visual, and less audio. They are more the agenda of the people than that of the minister. This is especially reflected in the music, preaching, skits, and attention grabbers," he said. "Willow Creek is an extraordinary example of young adults coming back to church in big numbers. These people grew up in oldline churches, drifted away, and are now back — but not in the denomination or congregation they were in before."6

   Hybels, who was raised in the Christian Reformed Church, sees the 25- to 45-year-old white-collar professionals who "grew up on

Page 250

television" as the primary target for his well-polished topical sermons. Wearing natty business suits with razor-sharp creases in the pants, Hybels delivers his messages from full notes as he stands behind a portable plexiglass lectern on the brown-carpeted Willow Creek stage. There is no pulpit, of course, and his audience sits in comfortable theater seats — not pews. The auditorium's massive windows look out on a large lagoon graced with willow trees and populated by wild ducks and geese.

   After services, Hybels "works the bullpen" — an area just below the right front corner of the stage — where he chats individually with anyone who lingers.

   His sermons usually last thirty minutes and everything in the service meshes with his theme. Preceding a message about "The Changing American Dream" — on the illusory happiness of "having and doing it all" — Gilbert Bilezikian read Matthew 16:25-26: "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it. What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul?"

   Layman Bilezikian segued into the passage after speaking for several minutes on contemporary examples of "materialism and greed." Next, a humorous skit called "Confessions of an Ad-aholic," dramatized the pitfalls of a consumptive lifestyle. Though played by church volunteers, the skits — a staple of weekend services — are produced, choreographed, and rehearsed under the watchful eye of Willow Creek's fulltime drama director, Steve Pederson. Quality lighting and professional sound equipment back up each presentation. Large video screens give people in the balconies a better view of what's happening on stage.

   At this particular service, the music included a prelude by ten flutists and a violinist, a number by three singers and a fifteen-piece combo — and a jazzed-up version of "Down by the Riverside" for the offertory.

   Hybels eschews cliches, quotes news and financial magazines, and emphasizes "honesty, transparency" and "real life problems" in his sermon.

   "Hybels is preaching a very upbeat message," said Stephen Warner, a sociologist at the University of Illinois in Chicago. "It's a

Page 251

salvationist message, but the idea is not so much being saved from the fires of hell. Rather, it's being saved from meaninglessness and aimlessness in this life. It's more of a soft-sell."7

   Yet Hybels, who holds a bachelor's degree in biblical studies but is not seminary trained, pulls no punches. The "hidden cost" of the American dream may mean that dream chasers who "live spiritually alienated from God . . . pay the price in hell forever," he admonished, driving home his point from Matthew 16.

   Weekend services are for beginners in the faith ("Christianity 101 and 201," says Hybels) and are not intended to provide worship for believers. But core members receive their spiritual "meat" ("Christianity 301 and 401") at Wednesday and Thursday night discipleship meetings. These services, called "New Community," plus some ninety "subministries" — everything from staffing Willow Creek's extensive food pantry for the needy and repairing autos for the indigent to producing Christian dramas for the elderly — make up the core of the church, according to the Rev. Don Cousins, Willow Creek's associate pastor for ministries.

   "The weekend services are the front door, but the church inside has to be the real thing," he told a group of attentive church leaders at one of Willow Creek's conferences for pastors. "Or else people will go right on out the back door."

Selling Tomatoes Door to Door

   Born the son of a produce executive from Kalamazoo, Michigan, Hybels, at age 22, felt the call to the ministry and walked out of the lucrative family business. Becoming a church youth leader, he focused on events to draw in non-believers and quickly built up the group from 25 to 1,000. Next, Hybels asked a few friends to help him canvas the Northwest Chicago suburbs to find out why adults didn't attend church.

   "Boy, did we get an earful," Hybels recalls.

   The answers, in order of frequency: The church is always bugging me for money; I don't like the music; I can't relate to the messages; the services are boring, predictable, and irrelevant; the pastor makes me feel guilty and ignorant, so I leave feeling worse than when I came.

Page 252

   The follow-up question: What kind of church would attract you?

   The survey respondents wanted a non-threatening environment, anonymity elementary-level teaching, excellence, "high take-home value," and "time to decide."

   Deciding they wanted to start that kind of church, Hybels and friends sold tomatoes door to door in the summer of 1975 to raise enough money to rent the Willow Creek Theater in Palatine. Rousing contemporary-style Christian music, quality drama, and low-key sermons lured newcomers — who were left alone and not asked for money.

   Soon, the Palatine theater could not hold the crowds and the church was built in 1981. The facilities have been expanded to 355,00 square feet and ministry center and gymnasium housing three basketball courts were added. Increasing the capacity of the auditorium — already larger than any theater in Chicago — is also under consideration.

   But the initial philosophies still guide Willow Creek, where 1990 revenues were $9.1 million — $175,000 a week — and audited financial statements are made public.8

   Just before the brown offering bags are passed at services, someone makes an announcement something like this: "If some of you came to give monetary thanks, the ushers will come by; if you didn't come prepared, that's OK. And if you're new today, we don't expect you to give because you're our guest."

   But the inner circle of followers is taught the principle of tithing to the Lord's work.

The Hybels' Lifestyle

   Bill, his wife, Lynne, and their two children live near the church in a posh subdivision where $500,000 homes surround a lake. But theirs, built in 1983, cost $200,000 and they own no vacation homes or other property and only one moderately priced car. Hybels has asked the church not to increase his annual salary beyond the 1990 figure of $67,000. Other income, he says, is from royalties from nine books he has written and honorariums from speaking and conducting funerals and weddings. He sets no fees for any of these services.

   "I have no secrets," he says, adding that he has invited anyone

Page 253

who wants to look at his checkbook stubs to do so. Hybels told me he once turned down a $100,000 gift to the church "because it didn't fit with Willow Creek's purposes." He also mentioned that some Willow Creek members have turned down job promotions with large pay increases because they didn't want to have to move away from the church.

   There's a tremendous price to keep what Hybels calls "the edge of excellence." He readily acknowledges his high intensity and strict discipline. He lifts weights, runs two to four miles a day, fasts a few days a week, eats health foods, and arrives at his office between five and six o'clock each morning.

   The stress of bigtime ministry brought him dangerously close to "flipping out" a few years back. Ever since, he's insisted on a regimen of regular rest, physical exercise, spiritual reflection, time off with his family, and personal accountability.

   The "accountability factor," says Schaller, is for many critics the crucial issue facing megachurches: "Who will hold these megachurches accountable for their actions? To whom are the senior pastor and his staff accountable?"9

   Keenly aware of the credibility damage many independent church ministries have suffered as a result of financial and moral scandals, Hybels has shied away from putting his church on TV. Three male confidants to whom he reports informally would tell "in a heartbeat" if he strayed off the track, Hybels says. The chief pastor expects high performance from his associates as well.

   Willow Creek's eight elders — three are women — put in eight to fifteen hours of volunteer work each week handling church business. The staff, too, feels the pressure of the pace. They understand what George Barna meant when he spoke about "Bill Hybels' . . . absolute dedication to see that everything must coincide with his vision . . . for a flourishing church."10

   In 1990, Hybels and his board expanded the team-teaching ministry and management at Willow Creek to demonstrate to other churches that "shared leadership and teaching will work." Historically, no large church has ever been able to make the transition and "break the rule that unless the visible senior pastor teaches all the time, the church goes in the tank," Hybels said.11

   In July, 1990, Jim Dethmer, a founding pastor of Grace Fellowship

Page 254

Church — a Willow Creek-style congregation in Baltimore — joined Hybels, associate pastor Cousins, and director of communications Lee Strobel as the church's principal lectern speakers.12

   "No one teacher can carry the burden of a megachurch," Dethmer told me. "It can't revolve around one charismatic or dominant leader."13

   What hurts, Hybels confided, is being portrayed as "high profile, dictatorial, heavy handed. That's not true," he says, propping his feet atop his desk, "I'm an incurable team player."14

   That's true, agree staff members, as long as he gets to play quarterback.

No Creek Clones

   Hybels has not felt impelled to plant and staff satellite churches. Nevertheless, churches with similar formats and philosophies are popping up around the country. One in Southern California, Horizons Community Church of Glendora, "premiered" in 1991 in a theater in Diamond Bar.

   "Some rules are meant to be broken," teased a flier inviting folks to Horizon's upcoming "Faithful Attractions." For example: Church is boring . . . church is not practical . . . church is not relevant . . .

Horizons is for people who don't like church. Or for people who don't like some of the things that happen in churches. We will break some of these images, or perceived rules.

High quality drama, music and multi-media will be used creatively as we look at how Christianity affects life in California in the 90s . . . Come break some rules with us and help us reach the unchurched community with God's message of love.15

   The nine Horizons start-up leaders attended a Willow Creek conference in 1989 and apparently took good notes!

   South of Diamond Bar, in Orange County, Saddleback Valley Community Church is a flourishing congregation of more than 4,000 that was founded in 1980. Recently, it purchased a 113-acre site for expansion.

Page 255

While Saddleback has not directly borrowed from the Willow Creek model, pastor Rick Warren follows a style and outreach that is strikingly similar, reaching many previously unchurched boomers.

   Not all church leaders buy the Willow Creek package — which is just fine with Hybels. He urges pastors to do their own marketing surveys and "listen to your people."

   Some Willow Creekers have in fact departed because they miss the traditional hymns, rituals, and structures of denominational churches. Others have simply found the music too loud or the church too big.

   Hybels is nettled by the perception of some critics that Willow Creek is a "lightweight" church: "the assumption that we present entertainment with a convenience-oriented gospel."

   And staff members were not amused by a headline in the USA Weekend Sunday supplement on Easter, 1990. It read simply: "McChurch."

   The ensuing story "read more like a Mac Attack" declaring that "happy customers are eating up our 'fast-food' religion," chided Rob Wilkins, editor of Willow Creek, the church's glossy, top-quality, full-color bimonthly magazine.16

   In a kinder, gentler assessment, Anthony B. Robinson, senior pastor of Plymouth Congregational Church (UCC) in Seattle, made the following report in the Christian Century after his visit to Willow Creek:

   "If Willow Creek is accessible to the unchurched," he asked, "is what it offers recognizable as the church? Or has the worshiping congregation been transformed into an audience? Are the weekly services more entertainment than worship?"17

   Hybels bristles at the suggestion that Willow Creek demands anything less than deep discipleship: "I would say with a clear conscience that we challenge people to full commitment to Jesus Christ — 95 percent commitment is not enough."18

Chapter Twenty-six  ||  Table of Contents