Scott Freeman

How Did I Get Here, Part 4

Or, Compassionate Conservatism

In retrospect, I would like to say that the thoughts and sentiments of Rich Mullins (see previous post) stuck with me, but they did not.

A “savior” emerged that offered the restoration of the greatness of America, the reclamation of all that made America good and right and pure, i.e. Reagan Redux.

George W. Bush campaigned on a platform of Compassionate Conservatism, the idea that you could hold conservative ideas yet still help those in need.

This idea of compassionate conservatism was a soothing balm for me. It enabled me to straddle the chasm between my growing understanding of the words of Jesus and the reality of American life. I could vacillate between both worlds with no compunction.
However, the idea looked far better on paper than it did in practice. Compassion and love in its truest form is not conservative but radical, it breaks free of the constraints of the status quo and seeks to effect change in the lives of the forgotten and the least of these.

By this time, however, I had arrived. I was youth minister for a 1000+ member, affluent church in a northern Dallas suburb. I was at the pinnacle of my profession.
We had built an enormous multi-million dollar building with the ideas that it would be the flagship church in our community. People would flock to us because of our gleaming edifice fronting the highway.

They would knock down our doors because they would see our cross dominating the skyline.

It did not matter that we had incurred enormous debt in order to do so. God had blessed us with the financial means and the population to make a huge splash. He had “expanded our territory.”
We were positioned to be “the” church in town.

(Note: my observations about my time at this location are just that, my observations of my own feelings.  Wonderful and godly people are members of that church who have done and continue to do great things for the glory of God.  Any indictment in my words are directed at me and not them.)

Life was great. Tracy was pregnant. We were making money hand over fist. Everything was as it should be.

But I was miserable.

There had to be something more.

Every week we had a staff meeting of all the ministers where we would discuss the ministry objectives of our church. Part of that process was long-range planning.

During one particular meeting, a small committee of “business-minded” men were asked to join us as we began to plot our future.

We were asked to envision where we saw the church 5 years down the road. As we went around the room, I was struck how all the answers dealt with the cosmetics of church–bigger auditorium, gymnasium, greater reputation and visibility, etc.

Is this what it was all about?  Was my ministry so easily reduced to the three B’s: Budgets, buildings, and baptisms?  Was I to be known for what I was doing to improve our appearance, or for what God was doing through me?

Around that same time I had a meeting with parents where I was taken to task for the number of spiritual activities that I was having.  I was told that there were too many Bible Studies and not enough “fun” events.

I left those meetings with the impression that spiritual growth was not the focus.  For our church, the focus was size and reputation.

For our teens, the focus was not producing spiritually mature young adults, but to keep them from participating in activities that their school friends were involved in.  It was less important for our teens to be holy than it was for them to not appear unholy.  (I realize that this paragraph is somewhat hyperbolic, but it was how I felt.)
In both instances, I felt that I was invested in an immature faith.  Being at the biggest church, with the highest youth budget, with the salary in the upper-echelon of the “brotherhood” were my signs of success.

I had become a cosmetic Christian.  I wasn’t holy as much as I was not unholy. I didn’t drink, cuss or watch too many R-rated movies. I was on the “right” of all the important moral issues of the day.
Yet, I didn’t care about the line that crossed through town marking the racial and economic divides between my ministerial world and the world where Jesus lived.

I needed to change. I was conservative, but I sure wasn’t compassionate.

Does any of this make sense?

Next: A baby, a terrorist attack, and a move to Michigan