The culture at that church was an interesting one. There was a pastoral staff of 14, and yet I only felt like I really knew and trusted one or two of them. There was a weird, competitive spirit among different departments that was actually encouraged by the lead pastor. Look, there’s nothing inherently wrong with large churches; if they share the gospel, care for people and worship the triune God, then, in my opinion, it’s a decent church. The problem comes when the emphasis becomes more about being a successful church than being a faithful or obedient one. Of course, no one would have ever said that was the case, but the buzzwords around that place were ones like ‘ministry excellence,’ and ‘next level’.
Don’t get me wrong, we had some great times. We had a youth budget that most youth groups could only dream of. Our youth group was large enough that we planned and ran our own summer camps, with over 100 attending each year. We held gigs. We did gaming nights, lock-ins, small groups and caving trips. We preached, we prayed, we laughed, we cried. We had genuine relationships with teenagers who wanted to know Jesus. It was real. Ten years later, I still keep up with dozens of young people and families. Some of our young people were fantastic: 13-year-old Betty raised over $10,000 for those trafficked in the sex trade. Her mum confessed to me: “Betty’s prayer life and discipline challenges me every day.”
But it wasn’t all peaches and cream: we lasted nearly three years in an environment that had become notorious for going through youth pastors rapidly. The church was still growing and we were running out of space so we built a multi-million-dollar, state-of-the-art sanctuary and a multi-level parking deck. I struggled with that theologically. How could we justify spending that kind of money so we could park cars? The only way I could rationalise it was to succumb to the fact that if the church was going to continue to grow, then people needed a place to park, but the nagging feeling in my heart and head never went away.
Inevitably in megachurches, there is the danger of a celebrity culture. Our lead pastor was a well-known orator. In fact, despite my frustrations during my time there, I still find myself quoting his sermons in my head, or remembering the finesse with which he made his powerful points. And yet, among pastoral staff and support staff, he had become known for burning through administrative assistants and leaving a trail of damage behind. Again, I had this nagging feeling: how long could I keep serving under a lead pastor who was a fantastic preacher, but who seemed to display so few of the fruits of Spirit?
“The problem came when the emphasis became more about being a successful church than being a faithful or obedient one”
In the end, it wasn’t any of those things that put the nail in the proverbial coffin of my youth pastorate in Atlanta. In a church of that size, 99 per cent of my time was spent with other Christians. Yes, there were young people committing to Jesus at camps and retreats, or during youth group, but my contact with unchurched people was virtually non-existent and I wasn’t okay with that. Too much of my time was spent in my office, surrounded by four walls, inside a very large church building.
We eventually left the church, partially inspired by a conference where I’d heard about planting new churches: I caught the bug. We resigned, having no idea where we were headed next. We tried church planting and failed miserably. We took a break from ministry for a while. We stopped trying to change the world and instead let the Holy Spirit change us. During this break from ministry, we stumbled across a youth work position in England, in a tiny village I’d never heard of: Rudgwick.
We decided to send a CV, resigned to the idea that nothing would come of it. It seemed like the longest of long shots. My wife and I started waking up in the middle of the night with dreams and visions, prayers and tears. On one occasion, we both looked at each other and said: “I think we’re moving to England.” Nine months later, we moved to Rudgwick, West Sussex and began a tremendous journey of rural UK youth work. We have just passed the eight-year mark. God is good. So, what have I learned in this whole process?
Bigger isn’t always better
Hey, I get it: growth matters; numbers matter because they represent people. At the same time, we can have an unhealthy fixation on numbers. Sometimes Jesus asks us to go smaller, to get to know people at a deeper level. Bigger isn’t necessarily wrong, but it’s not always better either.
Don’t look on past experiences too disparagingly
I was recently chatting with someone from my old youth group. She had really fond memories of the times we had together as a group. She knows nothing of the behind-the-scenes
struggles I had in that role. God was doing his thing, even though I wasn’t 100 per cent happy there. I’m not suggesting we overlook unhealthy ministry practices, but we need to take the good with the bad.
Sometimes it’s less about what is right or best
At the end of the day, you need to be where God has you. I don’t think the megachurch model is the best model for advancing the kingdom of God but God can bless anyone he wants to, and if he calls you to that kind of setting, go.
