A Way Closed Behind Me

The final lesson I mentioned in a previous post was that there are some things about yourself (and God) you’ll never know until you step out in faith and try something new.

Many who watched Fulcrum from afar have had a hard time understanding what went wrong. We seemed to have everything a new church would need to succeed. God provided us with the necessary funding, an excellent coach, a roomful of winsome people, and lots of outside encouragement.

On this side of it, I can clearly see that we lacked one important thing: a church planter who was really called to plant a church. This was something I didn’t, and perhaps couldn’t, know about myself until I actually tried to plant one. What follows is both a confession about my calling as a church planter and a rumination on the sometimes painful process of discerning the will of God for our lives.

From the very beginning of my ministry, I was always been intrigued with the idea of planting a church. For years, church planting was the greener grass I fantasized about when I was overwhelmed with frustration from my work with existing churches. A couple of years ago I decided that planting a church was a “deathbed” issue for me. If I didn’t give it a try, I’d regret it on my deathbed. So Heather and I embarked on the journey of assessment and discernment to see if church planting was something we could and should do. Obviously, the result was that we were given the opportunity to chase the dream.

I do remember, however, one conversation with one of the church planting coaches doing my assessment in which he said, “I don’t doubt that you could plant a church, I’m just not sure you’re really called to plant one. If you’re not called by God to do it, no matter your capabilities, you won’t be able to press on through the difficulties you’re sure to face once you start.” He was picking up in me a lack of “gung ho” spirit about church planting that most potential church planters bring with them to their assessments.

My response to him was that I wasn’t sure if I was really called to plant a church either. The reason we were doing the assessment was part of a larger discernment process in which we were trying to figure out if it was something God wanted us to do. All along the way, I was looking for a resounding “no” from God that would have shut the door on our exploration. If after the assessment, we were told that we weren’t a fit for church planting, we would have taken that word to heart and moved on to something else.

This attitude was quite a contrast from that of a couple I recently heard about who, after going through their assessment and being told that they weren’t cut out for church planting, decided to go it alone, without organizational support, because regardless of what they were told in their assessment, they still believed they were called to plant a church. You gotta love church planters!

Because we were given the opportunity, I was more than willing to give it a shot. Not because I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was called to plant a church, but because I believed that in the absence of conclusive evidence one way or the other, one of the best ways to figure out if I was called to be a church planter was to actually try to plant one.

However, there is a big difference between saying, “I really want to try this before I die.” and saying “I’m going to die if I don’t do this now!” This is what I think the assessor was trying to say to me just over two years ago. Maybe if he had said in his best Yoda voice, “Try not. Do…or do not. There is no try.” I would have understood, but probably not.

I was ready to try to plant a church if given the chance. I wanted to give planting a try more than I wanted to remain stuck in the situation I was in two years ago. I had talked about planting for so long that when presented with the opportunity, it would have been impossible to say no without having long-term regrets.

But once I got started, I never really felt comfortable in my skin as a church planter.

There were parts of the job I really enjoyed. I loved the exploration and experimentation side of church planting. Loved it! If there were a “Research and Development” department in the church planting world, I’d sign up in a heartbeat.

There were also parts that I hated. I slogged through them as best I could, but over time they wore me down at a faster rate than the things I enjoyed could re-energize me.

So many mornings I woke up feeling like I had to be someone I wasn’t wired to be. I tried to overcome my introverted personality and provide the relational glue that could hold our fledgling community together. Not only was I ineffective, but my efforts to be someone I was not left me feeling empty and aimless. As I saw our community begin to fall apart, I simply didn’t have the relational energy to keep it going.

There is a saying that preachers love to throw around: God doesn’t call the equipped, He equips the called. If that is true, then it was my lack of equipment in the moment of truth that finally revealed to me once and for all that I was not called to plant a church.

As much as I hated admitting we weren’t going to make it and as embarrassing as I found it to call it quits, there was still a part of me that was relieved to no longer have to fake being a church planter. I guess I’d rather be a quitter than a faker.

These are insights I’ve only been able to articulate within the past couple of weeks thanks to the guidance of a gifted counselor and input from a few trusted friends. I’ve also had a few friends come out of the woodwork after the fact and say, “You know, I never did think you were cut out to plant a church!” Thanks guys.

These insights have brought me equal measures relief and grief.

I’m relieved that I can move on with the rest of my life knowing that I’m not called to plant a church. I can curl up in my deathbed someday and regret a lot of things, but not that I never pursued my dream to plant a church. In the words of Parker Palmer, from his wonderful little book Let Your Life Speak, “A way has closed behind me.” I’m not sure what new way is opening before me, but I can move forward with great confidence and peace that I’m not a church planter. I honestly, short of a disembodied hand writing it on the wall, can’t think of any other way I could have come to this conclusion without having walked this path. With the way behind me closed, I’m invigorated to find a world full of possibility open in front of me!

But this beautiful realization has come at a high price.

I’m grieved by the realization that this exercise in self-discovery didn’t occur in isolation. I invited many people to accompany me on this journey. Money was invested, trust was given, and faith was exercised so that I could finally figure out that I am not a church planter. My God, was there not an easier, less painful way to show me this? Was this the only way for God to finally get my ego into the kill zone?

Painful stuff, this discerning the will of God on the back end of a disappointment.

Do I regret walking this path? No, not a bit.

To bring it back to the lesson that started this post, I’ve learned things about myself, God, and my friends and family that I’d have never known otherwise. I’ve met some wonderful people and seen some ordinary people do some wonderful things. I’ve been humbled by the goodness and generosity shown to me by the Body of Christ. My family and I experienced some great moments on this journey that we’ll never forget. I believe many others who were involved in Fulcrum can say the same.

Do I wish things had worked out differently? Yes.

I wish I had been called to be a church planter. I think they’re some of the gutsiest people on the planet doing world changing work. I also wish I were 6’4″ and could jump out of the gym. But there’s a huge difference between wishing and being.

Parker Palmer says that there is great freedom to be found in discovering our limitations. If that is true, then this experience has set me free to use my strengths in the service of something bigger than myself without having to pretend to be something I’m not.

To show my gratitude to all who have made this journey–and therefore these insights possible–I hope to do just that.