the Ministry Monster, part 1

Does anyone else feel like we've created a monster that we can't afford to feed?

Let's face it, we all want a worship band that sounds like they hang out in U2's basement jamming with Coldplay after having a Bible study with the guys from Hillsong United. When we realize we can't have that, we settle for patching together a band with whomever we can find: a piano player that cut her teeth on a Sandi Patti accompaniment books, a guitar player who just showed up and can strum twelve chords, a bass player who, 10 minutes ago, was a guitar player but could only strum seven chords, an 8th grader who's been taking drum lessons since Christmas, and six vocalists--3 of which earned their spot on the team by being related to either a deacon, an elder or the Sunday school superintendent.

OK, a little exaggerated, but there are a few of you wondering if I wasn't hiding out in your baptistery at your last rehearsal.

Why do we do this to ourselves? We listen to Tomlin, Baloche, Vineyard, Hillsong, [insert your favorite] and somehow think we need to have that sound. I LOVE that these ministries and musicians have this sound, and it's something to strive for within reason. But somehow our unspoken belief is that our worship gathering isn't complete without a full band. (And btw, "full band" is a relative term...for your church it might be guitar, bass, keys and drums; for others it might need to include a horn section or an orchestra.)

And so we've made this monster - this beast that requires a weekly struggle to piece together a band and make them sound like our iPod playlist. Here are some of the problems:

The monster chews up good people. We burn-out our best musicians by asking them to "play as often as you can - but no pressure...." The monster NEEDS drums, but you only have one decent drummer. She feels the pressure to play every Sunday that she's available. Eventually, it will wear her heart down. 

The monster frustrates and discourages inexperienced musicians. Because of the monster's needs, we often throw people up on stage before they're truly equipped. To involve inexperienced musicians in an intentional development role is good. But let's say a person is being leaned on as the sole guitarist but is struggling just to survive through each song. There will likely be little, if any, musical gain. We know it and he knows it. Throwing someone into the deep end before they can swim might be an effective way to teach. Or it might just drown them.

The monster grows big and mean on expectations. The planets align perfectly one Sunday: the "A" players were scheduled together; they actually practiced ahead of time; the song list was stacked with favorites; the demons in your sound and video systems were successfully bound all at once. Your team walks off the platform with a "win". It's an encouragement they've needed. But now for a lot of leaders, team members and people in the congregation, the "bar" has been raised. People wonder, "Why can't we have that kind of worship all the time?" The monster just got a few pounds bigger and a little more hungry.

The monster disguises itself as excellence. Excellence is qualitative. The monster is quantitative. A worship set of 3 well-rehearsed songs by a team consisting of an acoustic guitarist, djembe player and keyboard player--all solid musicians--and one good vocal leader (who loves Jesus) can't help but produce excellence. The monster is a cobbled-together, five-piece band attempting to play seven songs. Excellence is both a foundational element and a product. If it's not in the foundation, it's not in the product. It can't be injected like a steroid.

Our cute puppy has turned into a 200 lb Rottweiler with horns. The only way we can afford to feed it is by robbing from our kids' lunch money to buy the cheapest bag of Walmart dog food.

We've got a few options: 

1. Keep struggling to feed it.
2. Quit and let someone else care for it. (That's probably how you got your current position in the first place.)
3. Try to tame it. (This could work, but remember that chimp that ripped that woman's face off? OK, kind of a gruesome anaglogy...)
4. Kill it. Before it kills you.

A moment of honesty:

I'm ready to try #4 with my own team. I've done a lot of #1 and #3, and have contemplated #2. But once I get through Easter, I'm going to start working with my leaders to dismantle the monster. Just the language I use "get through Easter" is indicative of a dealing with monster. But how often do you hear worship leaders/pastors, etc. say that they "just need to get through" Christmas, the summer lag, this big outreach, etc. 

Future posts in this series will talk more about specifics of my situation as well as "the plan" and how it's turning out. I'm making no promises on the specifics of this series - like how many posts, or how often, but if you'd like to join in the conversation, subscribe to this blog or keep checking back. Post responses and drop me e-mails. And e-mail this to other worship leaders that might be battling their own monster.