The "Authority" Thing

This week I read several posts at blogs I visit written by folks in various stages of recognizing or recovering from bad experiences with people who hold official positions of authority in the institutional church. After reading one that made me feel especially sad, I e-mailed a friend of mine a sketch of my practical philosophy (if it can be called that) for dealing with authorities of all types (in our out of church).

I had never written it down before, but in the few short minutes it took to write it, I managed to crystallize what I'd learned from my long, painful experience (26 years in five churches) into a couple of paragraphs. Since it was there and has served me fairly well, I figured it might be helpful to someone else. So I've cut-and-pasted it here, with a few modifications (that I couldn't resist making):

For some time, I've been on a sort of "provisional headship" track -- although I just now came up with that term as a way to describe it (and it even makes me nervous to have given it a technical-sounding name -- God forbid I should write a book entitled, "Provisional Headship.") What I mean by that is this: When asked by an authority to participate in some enterprise or other, basically, I'll agree to perform a single task, no strings, provided there are certain things understood (that's where the "provisional" comes from). Provisions are as follows:

First, I'll put myself under so-and-so's authority for that task only, and -- provided I'm not asked to do something illegal or clearly damaging to myself or others -- I'll do what I'm asked to do. I don't waste a lot of time trying to tell so-and-so how I would do it, or suggest a better idea, or get too creative. (Exception: Unless asked to comment or add creatively to the process, in which case I'm still careful, because I've been asked for input from leaders who really didn't want any input, but feel compelled for sake of projecting the PC image, that they should). I usually just ask them what they'd like, and I do my best to do it pretty much their way -- after all, it is their thing.

Second, I'll do it provided the leader understands that my saying yes once is no guarantee I'll ever say yes again. (And to be fair, I turn that around and say, over and over to myself, that I have no call to assume that if I'm asked once, I'll be asked again.)

Third, I don't make formal long-term commitments. Period. I just don't have that kind of control over my life right now. But I volunteer, on the spur of the moment, without being asked, whenever I can. That I can manage.

Fourth, and most important, I don't EVER agree to be flattered into anything, by anyone, no matter how attractive the ministry or the leader seems to be on the surface or how good the attention make me feel. (Many people who aspire to church service and/or positions of leadership do so to feel better about themselves, and it's always, always, always a train wreck. That was certainly true for me, although I was hardly in a position to recognize it at the time. As soon as you say "yes," of course, the flattery stops, and you find out too late how important the flattery was to the equation.) I also resist all appeals couched in "ought" or "should" language or anything that implies I might derive from the task a sense of importance or belonging:

"The church needs you."
No, it doesn't. It needs the power of God. It needs Jesus. It needs the Holy Spirit.

"But the church needs it."
If there's no one wildly excited about doing "it," (the ministry or task) then no, it really doesn't. A children's ministry, for instance, run by enlisted personnel rather than heartfelt volunteers is worse than not having one. Scratch an "unchurched" or an atheist, you often find a kid who grew up in a Sunday School run by conscripts.

Lest I'm accused of having a low view of authority, let me add that, in fact, I have a very high view. Always have. Always will. The Biblical character David, the apple of God's eye, had a high view of authority, and he's my model. Even after the prophet Samuel anointed him King of Israel, as Saul's replacement, David refused to take his rightful place by force, and twice refused to kill Saul when he had the chance, dangerous man though Saul was. David would not lay a hand on what he called "the Lord's anointed." On the other hand, David wasted no time staying in the presence of any authority at whose hands he could suffer harm. He got out, just as many of my friends have recently done.

David did what they had to do to keep himself safe, even though it twice cost him the very position for which he had been anointed. And he left to God the difficult business of dealing with anointed leadership gone wrong.