You Don’t Know Me: the gospel of vulnerability

You don’t know me.  And that’s part of the problem.  I’m the pastor of your church, but you don’t know me.

You don’t know what hurts me.
You don’t know what keeps me awake at night.
And you don’t know how much I need prayer.

No wonder the rest of the church seems so impersonal.  You and I have lost our connection.  Or maybe we never even had a connection because you came after the church had already gone Mega…. and I had already retreated into strength.

Somewhere along the line, as the church grew bigger, I found that being vulnerable with you, my flock, was a sign of weakness.  I was vulnerable a couple times with my staff and it came back to bite me.  I opened up during a sermon and got nailed for it.

More and more people came to the church and that put physical distance between me and you.  To make matters worse, I stopped opening up as much shortly thereafter.  Suddenly, there were a lot more people who could hurt me if I were vulnerable.  So, strength – or faking strength – became the safe haven.

And then here’s what happened:

I created this impersonal culture from the top down as I modeled a lack of vulnerability, tightened my mask in place, and pressed on as the strong leader.  If I’m not willing to be open, authentic, and vulnerable personally then how can I be surprised that you come to church with your mask firmly fitted as well?  How can I be frustrated that the church has become less personal as it has grown?

It started with me.

Second, I made it okay to rely on program rather than relationship.  I created something that makes creativity, talent, and knowledge king rather than Jesus.  I circled the wagons around my own ability and thoughts and walled out both Jesus and you.  I disconnected from Jesus being my strength and passed that disconnect on to you.  How can I be confused by how our church is relying less and less on each other and Jesus, and more and more on formulas and events?

It started with me.

I’ve gotta fix this.  If anything will damage our large and growing churches it’ll be the enemy’s ability to cultivate this disconnected feeling.

Disconnected with the other people worshiping in the same room.
Disconnected with whoever is leading up front.
Disconnected with even Jesus himself.

So, let me be vulnerable.

It hurts me when people complain or critique harshly.  Even if I say it doesn’t bother me, it does.

I think through what I do and why I do it.  A LOT.  When it feels like you immediately assume the worst about me without giving me the benefit of the doubt, it hurts.

It hurts me when you miss a couple weeks of church for stupid reasons.

It keeps me awake at night when I start to think about all the people who are in our city who don’t know Jesus.  Seriously.  I have this huge heart to see them reached, loved, and discipled.

I’m overwhelmed with how to really, truly grow the people in our church.  I know it’s got to be more than just sermons or classes or even small groups.

I lie in bed knowing that the Holy Spirit has got to do the work, but I feel burdened that I’m not working hard enough.

I need prayer constantly.  There, I said it.  I’m not sure when I started feeling like asking you to pray for me was a sign of weakness, but I feel that way.

I struggle with making my family a priority.
I struggle even caring that my next-door neighbors exist.
I struggle with my thought life.
I struggle with not having all the answers.
I struggle with feeling good enough for God.
I struggle with wanting to please you more than wanting to please the Lord.  Every day.  That’s why I need you to pray for me.  Honestly.

We HAVE to become more personal and vulnerable as leaders, from the top down.  We can do it from main stage.  We can do it through social media.  We can do it with our staff.  And if we do it, we will see a ripple effect church-wide.

By being appropriately vulnerable from main stage, we can make that experience feel personal even if there are 5000 people in the room.  By opening up on platforms like Twitter or Facebook, we allow people a window into our personal lives.  By being honest in our staff relationships, we allow them to see past talent and experience to see Jesus actually empowering someone to do what they do!

But the risk is great.  I don’t always know what “appropriately vulnerable” means.  Do I spill the gory details of every sin?  Of course not.  And what if people mistake my vulnerability for a lack of strength in Him?    Certainly, people need me to be strong in the Lord.

It’s no wonder I’m hesitant to be transparent.  People need me.  Or at least I’ve believed the lie that they do.

If I’m honest, I think I’m just worried that if I’m vulnerable I may not be seen as the perfect, flawless tower of strength anymore.

But Jesus might be.

And isn’t that what I wanted in the first place – for myself AND my flock?

That’s why there’s good news to being vulnerable.  We decrease.  He increases.  Like Paul admitting his struggles in Romans 7, I think the impersonal feel of church fades when people get to know the real you.