The last time I sold a car it was simpler. Then, fifteen years ago, I put something on Craigslist and that was it. “That was it,” in two senses. I sold the car. And Craigslist was about the only place to advertise a used car (by then newspaper want/sale ads were pretty much gone).
Now, I’m selling another car. You can tell by the fact that I only do this once every fifteen years or so, I’m not a car salesman. Further evidence, after two weeks of on-line ads, I’ve still got the car.
But this time, there’s way more than just Craigslist. There’s a small industry of online businesses for listing and selling your old car. And they all charge a fee to do it. And there’s a new sub-industry, also online, providing “vehicle history” research and reports. I learned that I needed to have all that information, for another fee, for today’s scam-wise buyer. Otherwise, I might have forgotten to mention that the car had been submerged during high water years ago.
Branching out beyond Craigslist, I wrote an ad for AutoTrader. The ad copy came back to me with instructions for improvement. “Tell people what’s special about your car.” “What’s unique about it?” “What sets it apart?”
I thought, “It’s a Subaru. It’s black. It has four wheels. It’s a fine car. But there’s nothing special about it,” which kind of made me feel bad, like I was being disloyal to my car.
What might qualify, I wondered, as special? “This car is equipped with three state-of-the art cabin air purifiers so that when you find yourself in a traffic jam and trapped behind a diesel truck heaving clouds of exhaust, you and your family are safe and comfortable breathing super clean and pure air.” I like it. But I don’t have it.
How about this for special? “This is the car we raised our kids in … there are food stains and some-other-stuff to prove it.” Or maybe, “This car is spiritual in a way that other cars just aren’t. It has an energy that just holds you and makes you feel connected.”
In recent years, my ministry has been a little of this and little of that. Teaching, writing books, giving talks, organizing conferences and some “consulting” with congregations. I never really liked the word “consultant,” and felt sort of embarrassed to have it stuck to me. But really it was the kind of “Mr. Fix-It” mindset that the word evoked. As if the church had finally decided “Enough! We’ll call a plumber (electrician, roofer) to tell us what’s wrong and get it fixed.” Having been a pastor for thirty years I was pretty skeptical about our prospects for “fixing” a church.
A time or two I tagged along with other, more experienced, church consultants. It seemed that their main message to their clients was, “Figure out what’s special about your church!” “What sets you apart?” “What makes your church unique?” “Tell your story!” Basically, they/we were saying, “you need a brand.” The unspoken was, “if you want to get anywhere, you’ve got to sell your church.”
It was always interesting to be in the room for these exercises. At one a consultant raised his questions about what was special, unique, etc. about the congregation.
After a pause verging on awkward silence, an older man said, “Well, we’re Presbyterian.” It was pretty clear the consultant didn’t think that was going to cut it. At which point another, also older member said, “I think this church is the friendliest group of people I know … it’s my family.” Several heads nodded.
A few others had a go at the consultant’s questions. “We’re a pretty busy church, an active church … there’s always something going on,” said a middle-aged woman with an energetic smile. Another said, “Our choir, our choir is really top notch.” The consultant looked as if he was about to shoot himself.
Then Sarah spoke. Sarah was a bred-in-the-bone Presbyterian whose broad forehead and aquiline nose made her look as she could be a descendant of John Calvin. She had been a school principal in town for so long that her current students were the grandchildren of her first.
Sarah said, “I love this church. It’s been my church for a long time. There have been great moments — and yes — a fair number of not-so-great ones, too. I love our sanctuary, and yes the choir — at least since Cindy took over — is pretty good. But, with respect to our advisor here” — Sarah nodded toward the consultant — “I think we’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“The church,” said Sarah, “is not the star of its own show.”
“Sorry, what was that?” said the consultant.
“The church is not the star of its own show,” repeated Sarah. “It’s not about us, not really. It’s about God. If we’re a place where people somehow feel they meet God, where they feel his mercy,” Sarah continued, “that’s what’s special. That’s what matters.”
“We’re busy? So what, who’s not busy? We’re friendly? So are the people at Rotary. And though I am a life-long Presbyterian, I’ve come to think that isn’t really all that important. Frankly, I sometimes worry we’re better at making Presbyterians than we are at making Christians … And no, we are not changing the name of this church to ‘Rising Spirit Life Center.’ Good Lord!”
“It’s just not about us. It’s God. God in Jesus. That’s all the special we need. And if we don’t get that right we may as well close up shop right now.”
“Thank you, Sarah” said the chairman, glancing uncomfortably at the consultant to his right. “You’ve given us a lot to think about.” The consultant, who was gathering up his papers and stuffing them into his briefcase, said, “Well, good luck with that … God … I mean isn’t every church about God?”
A younger member spoke up. “Actually, no. Many are social clubs or civic groups. I’m here because I have felt God here, I’ve felt his grace when we pray together, and his love when we sing together. And when Eunice preaches, Jesus is what I hear. That’s why I’m here. And Sarah is right. That is very, very special.”
Anyone need an old Subaru?
COMMENTS
5 responses to “Selling the Church Like a Used Car”
Leave a Reply
Oh Lord, thank you for Sarah. Help us to listen to her.
Bullseye! So well said.
Love the humour and the truth of this.
Great story. And a good lesson as to what can happen when we ask “experts” to tune up or rearrange our churches.
Thanks
Spot on Tony. You reminded me of the Lutheran Church I grew up in. Salt of the earth, Scandinavian farmers, plumbers, and carpenters bringing their brood to Sunday services, that is, until all the children grew up and moved on. “Without the kids what are we going to do, how are we going to survive,” one member pondered. “I know,” said another, “we need a big organ. I’ve heard that really brings em in.”
When our last church brought in a consultant people said similar things
“We’re a family here.” – okay, that’s what people say at my CrossFit gym
“We’ve got activities for everyone” – okay, everyone is already doing better activities
“We serve the community” – okay, so does United Way.
And while I brought up all the counterpoints, I wish I would have put to words what Sarah did. Only, I don’t know if anybody felt God’s presence in that church. We never even saw a baptism in 4 years.
3 years later and we’ve heard from friends that the doors will close in 2024.