God is Not a Capitalist.
Church Planting Reflections Many Months and Years Later
(This is a beautiful reflection from my wife, Grace, originally posted in her personal blog on August 2, 2020. We entered into this church planting journey just five months after our wedding, a season our marriage also needed our fullest attention and care for its planting. While I have so much to say about how our marriage played a role in our church planting journey and vice versa, I am simply grateful for her for sticking with me through thick and thin.)
At least once a month, I think about the week that I followed my husband to a church planting workshop hosted by one of the southeastern conferences of the UMC (basically, southeastern chapter/branch for those who are confused as to what a conference is, as I once was). I think about how my husband (and I, tagging along) met with two of his church plant’s stakeholders–two white cishet men–to talk about the church plant’s progress and future path. (Note: A convo that was guided largely by fear and anxiety than by inspiration and faith.) Somehow the conversation led to referencing a Virginia UMC church plant approximately 10 miles away from Minoo’s, and they pulled up this church plant’s website.
I had seen it before, because Minoo had been told before about this church plant (by I don't know who). The website landed aesthetically and functionally in the middle of a scale of church websites that went from not having been updated since the early 2000s to those that made you stop and wonder “Is this a church website?” The church was led by a female pastor, which, I want to pause here and confess that, coming from an SBC / (evangelical) non-denom / C&MA background where I told myself (in hindsight, shamefully) that permitting female church leadership at all levels was not the hill I would die on in my search for a church community, I never realized how much I needed to see women (especially Korean women) in pastoral positions until I personally met and befriended some through Minoo, and I never realized how much I needed to see men fully support female church leadership at all levels until I saw, among many other things, how passionate Minoo would get each time he knew or heard of a female student, peer, etc. express interest in pursuing their pastoral calling. However, within a couple of seconds of scrolling through the rest of the site, I knew I would not attend this church. Nothing against the church, but all the photos on their website showed only white people. And just as one can instantly, subconsciously process that they are the only female in the room; one can instantly, subconsciously process that they are the only nonwhite person in the room.
When the stakeholders showed me this church plant’s website, I told them exactly that. Even though there really doesn’t need to be a preface using the “only female” example, I told them in exactly that manner because earlier in the workshop week, one of these stakeholders kept talking about how his (white cishet) wife was one of the first female clergies of their conference, as if to further seal his liberal, woke Christian faith.
The two stakeholders both thanked me for pointing it out, commenting along the lines of how ridiculous it was that they completely missed it, but that it makes so much sense and is now so obvious. To be fair, I don’t doubt that they were actually being genuine about this. But, it was still disappointing. Especially since at a welcoming dinner with other planters from the Virginia conference, the same stakeholder who talked about his clergy wife had asked which one of us (Minoo or me) speaks better Korean. Yeah. I hadn’t received a question like that in years, and at the time it was my first time meeting one of my husband’s bosses, so I nervously answered to the man’s content. Though in retrospect, I wish I would have taken the opportunity to address how inappropriate of a question it was given that it was my first time meeting him, and that Minoo and I are both two Korean-Americans born in the United States.
I have been thinking about why I think about this workshop week at least once a month (aside from how unfortunately white-centric the experience was). And in particular, why the interaction regarding the neighboring church plant’s website seems to linger in my head. And I think I finally have some organization in my head and heart to explain why.
The neighboring church plant got shut down a couple of months after this workshop week. I guess shut down is not the full story — the church plant’s congregation was absorbed by a different church (though not integrated into the different church). It’s my understanding that the church plant’s congregation wanted to continue to gather as a group, but they were financially unable to sustain themselves and also physically not showing the growth progress (read: growth in number of members) to continue to be supported both financially (note: most church plants start with grants from various gargantuan Christian orgs/denoms — similar to the concept of seed money in the startup world) and spiritually as its own church entity by the UMC. As such, they went under the care and guidance of a larger church; but, as their own group/segment within that larger church. And the pastor returned to the state where she had originally been serving in ministry.
There is so much that angers me about this. For one, I don’t know why any coach or stakeholder would highlight a church plant that they know is going to be “stopped” as an example to a new church planter. (Is it a threat? A warning? Blissful ignorance?) I also don’t know why the (VA)UMC sends just *one* full-time pastor on church plant appointments (instead of sending teams of pastors/leaders out for church planting). I also don’t know why church institutions use an archaic and painfully inaccurate data point like Sunday worship attendance to measure a church’s current and prospective health. I don’t know why church plants follow the capitalistic start-up world model and are given 3–4 years to be financially self-sustaining, lest they be shut down. I don’t know why very few, if any, of the stakeholders that oversee church planting (at least in my experience with it) actually have a background in (sustainable and equitable) community development. And truly, quite honestly, I don’t know why anyone (especially white people) thinks that new church planting in a society and culture over-beaten with (Anglo-)Christian empire is both necessary and appropriate.
All this to say, I have speculations and preliminary thoughts as to why for most of the above. And as it relates to why I am even part of a church plant still, aside from being married to the person pastoring the church plant, it’s genuinely because it has been a place of unloading and unlearning, being free, being loved, and sharing in this journey with the most unexpected yet familial people I’ve encountered in my life. It is the people. It is always about the people.
There are many intricate examples that I cannot write concisely, but to share one from my personal vantage point: During a small group session one week, I shared to the attendees that I had half-jokingly told Minoo that this group may be his parishioners, but they are my friends, so I share about my life as I normally would share with friends (contextual note: this conversation was obviously about what it meant to be a pastor’s wife and whether I may be TMI at times). While we laughed about this conversation as a group, one of our small group attendees closed out the conversation by saying that they are not just Minoo’s parishioners, but also his friends too. I know this is so trivial, but it meant a lot for me to hear that. That we don’t have to constantly live in “either-or” categorical worlds, that we can live in nuance, live in “both-and” worlds, and learn how to navigate each step of the journey together.
When coronavirus changed our normal meeting routines and styles, our members shared about how they would tip their grocery workers whenever they went to buy groceries, because these workers were constantly at risk of exposure by working essential jobs, but were often underpaid and underappreciated. When we announced that we would be indefinitely meeting online, and not rushing to meet back in person, our church members all agreed it was the right thing to do instead of acting hastily and possibly increasing the risk of infection, even though we were all saddened because we really missed one another. When members shared vulnerably about their frustrations and pains, I learned, many months later, that texts of encouragement were exchanged offline. And when Minoo shared that he would be moving to a two-point charge this July (basically, that he was being appointed to a second church part-time), our members began to brainstorm and ask, “What can we do to help you? What can we do to support and help this other church?” rather than ask what this would mean for Minoo’s support levels to our current church and its members.
It is always about the people. This is the most obvious and yet most misunderstood point that I have learned by being part of a church plant.
It seems to be the case for stakeholders invested in funding and nurturing church plants as well. Too often, church plants are asked, what were your numbers this week? How many new people were there? How many total people attended your outreach event? When numbers are low, there is little enthusiasm, morale, etc. When numbers are high, church planters are applauded and told to keep up the good work. And while these questions are certainly about people, they furiously misunderstand what it means to really ask questions about the people.
See, these questions are asked because to many stakeholders, people = giving/tithing = $ = financial stability for the church. And while no church plant stakeholder will ever say that explicitly (perhaps, some of them are also convinced that this is not what they think at all), at the end of the day, this logic is what guides them to obsessively ask about attendance metrics in old and new ways. Throw in a good testimony, and of course, this is what makes up a typical church report.
What is foundationally problematic about this logic and about this limited tradition of reporting, is that it ties the church/church plant to deeply capitalistic roots.
(Note: I am not saying that giving/tithing is problematic or capitalistic in and of itself. For one, I strongly believe in it as a spiritual discipline–like prayer. And if anything, in theory, church giving/tithing can be conceptually understood as a collective taking shared responsibility and mutual ownership over its church. However, what I am saying is that the capitalistic logic motivating the performance measures and values associated with giving/tithing, particularly for church stakeholders, is problematic.)
We applaud churches that grow in numbers, because surely this is a sign of God’s faithfulness and favor (after all, the first church we know about in Acts, the Lord added to their number daily); and, you know…it doesn’t hurt that the church’s bank balance seems to gets steadier and bigger. We are mesmerized at churches that have resources for robust programming, and lots of it; while, we pity or feel sad or even look down upon the churches that do not have this capacity. We shut down churches that do not grow in number because we consider them “dead” or “at the end of their life.” And, when pastors are “promoted” or “move on to the next chapter of their journey,” it means they are appointed or move to a church with a bigger congregation size.
And whether we know it or not, whether we like to admit it or not, by operating in these norms, we buy into the words of the very Christians we look at with slightly confused, slightly angry eyes–the ones that say God is a capitalist.
To be clear, God is not a capitalist.
God is not about the Benjamin’s, God is not about profit. God is not about wealth accumulation. Even in the classical sense, God is not about competition.
As Christians, we profess faith in a triune God. There is a concept theologians have tied to explaining the mystery of the Trinity: perichoresis–which translated from Greek means dance (choresis) around (peri). The trinity, in other words, is described as a dance. I think this is possibly one of the best images of the trinity. Not Neapolitan ice cream (no matter how many well-meaning youth pastors have used this deeply flawed example); not the three states of water, not the three parts of an egg; not the three hats/roles a person can take; not a triangle. A dance. A dance circle where the triune God weaves in and out, where the triune God is both distinct in three and collective in one. A joyful, harmonious dance.
And as people of God, people who profess faith in such a triune God, we should consider the implications of joining such a dance where we are all uniquely known and yet collectively bound.
So, what would it look like for churches (people of God) to be like the first church in Acts? The one where people, upon being overwhelmed with the Spirit of God, “sold whatever they owned and pooled their resources so that each person’s need was met (Acts 2, MSG).” What would it look like for churches to live out the kingdom/realm of God that is allegorically described as one where the Sower went out to sow, and as they sowed, their seeds fell on the road, the gravel, and the weeds, just as they did on the good earth/soil? What would it look like for churches to live into the ministry of Jesus that blessed and shared company with the most marginalized in society? What would it look like for our churches to be anti-capitalist?
It’s a big question, and like many of us in society trying to unpack and live out anti-racism, it is a lifelong endeavor full of complexity and discomfort. (And, if I may add, an endeavor that will often intersect with the journey of anti-racism.)
I have very preliminary thoughts ranging from micro-level church actions of attempting to not be complicit in a capitalistic society to macro-level dreams of reform and revolution in and of churches.
All this to say, I definitely think churches can do better than primarily measuring attendance and growth in numbers to assess their health, progress, success, etc. Not only as a method of becoming less rooted in a capitalistic mindset, but also out of duty and respect to the very reason why churches exist: the people, uniquely known and collectively bound.
