Would the Church be better off if vocational ministry were a less attractive career?

I’ve spoken up a few times recently to question why the Church is giving raises to pastors who already have six-figure salary packages (in Kentucky, this puts them in at least the 83rd percentile for households, and that doesn’t take into account any income from spouses). One of the common points I keep hearing back goes something like this: “We need our ministry positions to be attractive, or we’ll lose our best and brightest to other vocations or other locations.” Or similarly, “Where’s the incentive to work harder and do better if you can’t get a raise?”

Do we really need ministry positions to be attractive? What would happen if they weren’t?

Two articles I read yesterday might contradict our need for more attractive positions.

The first was an excerpt from Todd Nelson’s Sunday sermon. Look at how he describes the early Methodist circuit riders:

You and I are here today because of the sacrifices of people who for roughly 300 years refused to ask “what is in it for me?” and instead asked a different, perspective changing, question. One of the best examples of this is the early Methodist circuit riders. You see, we stand upon the shoulders and peer into our future because of the tireless work of circuit riding preachers whose life expectancy was less than 40 because of the constant exposure to the elements and a difficult lifestyle. These servants of God carried God’s message on horseback across this nation. Outpost by outpost. Town by town. City by city. Refusing to count the personal costs and instead giving all for the benefit of others. At one point, the Methodist movement was the largest denomination in the United States…by a large amount.

Todd reminds me again what an unattractive career this was, by any worldly standards. Circuit riders braved often treacherous conditions, were dependent upon others’ (often underwhelming) hospitality as they traveled, and made barely enough to support themselves. And if you had climbed the ladder to become a district superintendent… it often meant you took the toughest circuits (i.e. rough terrain, notoriously bad hospitality along the way) so the less experienced preachers wouldn’t have to.

And yet these circuit riders changed the American landscape. Drastically. Why? Because their hearts burned to share the gospel. Because they wanted nothing more than to see the spread of the kingdom of God.

Do you think there was any question about the motives of many of those circuit riders? Did anyone say, “I’m not sure his heart’s really in it”? I can’t imagine they could. If your heart’s not in this, you don’t sign up.

Then I read an excerpt from a recent address by my bishop, Lindsey Davis. Look at how he describes some of the woes of these same people called “Methodists” today:

Only about 20 percent of United Methodist congregations are healthy, he said. And we “can’t change the other 80 percent by requiring them to send in numbers. They will simply play the game.”

Did you hear that? Require 80% of our people to show their numbers, and they’ll simply “play the game.”

Why is it that none of those circuit riders were “playing games,” but there’s a fear that as many as 80% of our congregations’ leaders today are?

I would argue that the answer is simple. There was no reason (and no time) for those circuit riders to play games. Playing games is about climbing the proverbial ladder, about preserving an income, or maintaining a position. There wasn’t much ladder to climb, nor income to preserve for those early circuit riders. It wasn’t much of a career. But it was an incredible calling. If you weren’t serious about the calling, you had no reason to stick around.

I wonder how different the history of Methodism would look if a career as a circuit rider had been attractive — potentially lucrative. I suspect Methodism would be a shadow of what it is today. Even though it surely would have attracted a more educated and naturally talented lot than those early circuit riders represented.

So I wonder… Would the work of the kingdom be done better today if the job were less attractive? Would it eliminate some of the questions about whether someone’s heart is still (ever was?) in it? Would it keep people from playing games, since there wasn’t much of a ladder to climb or big position to maintain in the first place? Would it keep people from doing things that look successful in the short-term but won’t last, and instead keep them focused on the real mission and the things they believe will be best for it?

And before the comments: Many, many, many people in vocational ministry are not in positions they or others would deem attractive or lucrative. I know that. And I know that many aren’t in it to play games! And I’m glad that you can afford to have a family and still be in vocational ministry today.

I’m just suggesting that, well, on par, this is a much more attractive vocation than was that of circuit rider. And yet those unincentivized itinerants put most of us to shame. Could it be there’s actually a correlation there?

There will be lots of opinions on this one. Hit one of the share buttons below to ask the people you know what they think. “Would it be better if ministry were an unattractive career?”

Related articles

• The Church as Alternate Economy
• Pastors’ Salaries and Church Buildings
• Without Reserve? (Wesley Sanders)

Recently, if I’ve mentioned Rob Bell, I’ve done it in a whisper. To be at all associated with Bell can be hazardous to your reputation, depending on who hears it and what assumptions they make.

To claim Bell as an influence already painted you in with a certain crowd before Love Wins (a book that questioned the traditional Christian doctrine of hell). After Love Wins, associating with Bell automatically puts you in some people’s probably-a-heretic category.

But Rob Bell has had a profound influence on my life, my theology, and my ministry, and I’m not ashamed to say it. Here’s why.

1 – The first time I heard Rob speak, the person introducing him said, “Our next speaker is going to tell you things you have never heard, and you’re going to wonder why you’ve never heard them.” And that’s exactly what Bell proceeded to do. He opened up the Scriptures to me in a brand new way.

When Rob Bell talked that day, I began to see the intricate ways so many of the stories of the Bible are woven together. I remember it as the first time I really understood that maybe there was more to the Bible than just picking it up and asking myself what it means. And he didn’t just present that new information to tickle my brain. He used it to proclaim a deeper, richer gospel than I was accustomed to hearing preached. I think that was the day I first wanted to be a student of the Bible, not just a reader of it.

I found Rob later and asked him where he learned these things. I was convinced he must have some secret source of knowledge that other preachers didn’t have, or surely they would be sharing these things, too. He pulled out a “recommended reading” list and told me to start at the top. I obviously wasn’t the first to ask.

But this leads to the next point…

2 – That experience had a great influence on me as a communicator.

In the years since I first met Rob Bell, I realized he wasn’t the only one who knew these things! They actually teach them – or the tools to get at them – in seminary. And I realized that other preachers were even communicating some of these things. So I began to ask myself why I had never picked up on them before.

There were two reasons, I determined.

First, many other preachers just weren’t communicating these ideas very well. What I heard Rob Bell present as a mind-blowing, life-altering truth in Scripture, I heard others present haphazardly, unenthusiastically, or sometimes almost as a footnote.

Second, the other preachers didn’t give much time and attention to “teaching points” like these. Perhaps they feared losing people because of too much information. Perhaps they would have lost people because they weren’t able to present that much information in an accessible manner. Perhaps they just preferred to focus on motivation or therapy and didn’t want to get “bogged down” in biblical details.

Rob Bell showed me that it’s okay to get excited about Scripture. If it makes you want to jump up and down at times, well, jump up and down. If it doesn’t make you want to jump up and down at times, there’s something wrong. Maybe you need to study some more. (By the way – another reason some preachers don’t give much time to “teaching points”: it’s hard work. You have to put in some hours of serious research.)

Rob Bell showed me that deep historical and theological and biblical information has a proper place in our preaching. A lot of people are craving something with more substance. I was one of those people and didn’t even know it.

3 – Over time, perhaps the greater influence on me was Bell’s focus on simplicity and generosity.

He repeatedly showed me God’s concern for the foreigner, the fatherless, and the widow, and made me consider why I wasn’t doing more to care for them. He made me question the luxuries I was indulging while others’ basic needs weren’t met. It was his preaching that would first prod me to see my and the church’s use of money as a deeply theological issue. Those were the first seeds that you see growing into posts like “The Church as Alternate Economy” and “Pastors’ Salaries and Church Buildings.”

And while Bell’s preaching was powerful in this regard, it was his life that really did it for me. In a Q&A session, another staff-person at Rob’s church convinced him to share a bit about how he was personally trying to live into his preaching. He shared about ways that he and his family had simplified their lives. Most of us would call this extreme-simplifying, especially for a famous mega-church pastor who had sold lots of books. Their family of four was down to one car and living in what many would call a “starter home” in a rather rough area of town.

When Rob shared this, people started to applaud. His response: “No! No, no! Please don’t clap about this. You see, we have more now than we’ve ever had! We have more now than we’ve ever had!” (That’s my paraphrase, as best I remember it.) And I believed him. I wanted the joy and freedom that came along with that sort of simplicity and generosity.

All the other stuff

I should say a word about some of the other, more controversial topics. From even the early days of his popularity, the knock was that Rob didn’t believe in absolute truth. Honestly, I’ve not seen the sort of denial of absolute truth with Bell that I’ve seen with many others. What I’ve seen is a lot of questions.

Those questions were really helpful to me. It was helpful to question some lifelong assumptions I’d had – assumptions that it seemed all Christians had. It was good to ask where they came from. Rob Bell was the first to teach me the importance of deconstruction – even if he wasn’t always the most helpful for reconstructing, and even if some of the things he deconstructed maybe shouldn’t have been.

Which leads to the last point. It was Love Wins that sent Bell into a whole new stratosphere of controversial. For what it’s worth, I don’t think it was a very good book. I generally agreed with Tim Tennent’s “Why Rob Bell needs to return to seminary…,” though I think Tennent under-estimated how many people out there are saying the things that Rob was understandably trying to question. America has a lot of fundamentalists – and several of them are scary and mean.

I also don’t think the book merited the strong negative reaction it received. In the end, Bell doesn’t deny the existence of hell as a place of eternal separation from God. He asks a lot of questions and says there may be another side to the story. Even if that wasn’t done wonderfully, I don’t think it makes him a heretic. As far as I know, he can still recite the Apostles’ Creed without winking, so he meets my requirements. As far as I know, he believes that Creed is true for all people, whether they know it or not. That’s enough absolute truth for me. And as far as I know, he is truly seeking holiness in his heart and his life. That doesn’t mean I’ll let him influence everything I think and do, but I’ll take it for something. For a lot, actually.