I’ve grown up in a ministry culture where the center of the dance floor is dominated by Matthew 28. With these words, which we know as the Great Commission, Jesus charged his followers to make disciples of all nations, and Americans, if not others, are attracted to such a clear and measurable objective. It morphs into nice, compact mottos, such as “to fulfill the Great Commission in our generation” and the like. When one questions, as I do, the church’s preoccupation with growth, the Great Commission is offered as justification. To question largeness is to question whether we care about the lost.

Singer/songwriter Carly Simon once sang ironic words to an unidentified lover which, with slight modification, apply here.

You’re so vain.
You probably think the church is about you.

This touches upon my question. Is growth what the church is about? Has the Great Commission assumed a prominence it was never meant to have?

Simon goes on to say

All the girls dreamed that they’d be your partner.

Growth certainly was the partner I as a young pastor desperately wanted to dance with.

I assumed my first pastorate in September of 1985. The church then met in a tiny building on one-half acre of land in a hard to find part of Bradenton, Florida. There was no hot water, and the seats had been pulled from an old theater, but Hope Presbyterian Church was a beautiful and diverse community.

We sold the property to the Nissan dealer next door and began to hold worship in an upscale assisted living facility. With demographic data in hand, we purchased land in an area of growth and began to build a building. The church was prospering. It was a heady time. I was dancing with the life of the party, who assured me

. . . that we made such a pretty pair. . .

and that he would never leave. And yet, as Simon sings,

You gave away the things you loved
And one of them was me.

On Christmas day, 1989, Hope Church moved into our new building expecting, as the growth literature assured us, a burst of growth. Instead, we shrank, and along with it, my confidence.

Unquestionably another pastor could have danced with growth far longer into the night. But I’m not another pastor, and neither are you.

We’ve all been trained by a particular reading of Matthew 28 to think of growth as the only worthy partner. The result has been that our thinking about the church and about ourselves has been distorted.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not against growth. I long to see new Christians. I pray for those who are apart from Christ. I celebrate when I get to baptize a new believer. I also like having a sustainable budget.

I fear, though, that in our infatuation with Matthew 28 we have failed to take proper notice of John 13, Jesus’ command that we love others as he loved us. This “Great Commandment” is a partner more suited to centering and grounding us, but she stands to the side, often overlooked, because she lacks flash and glitter. We find it far more invigorating to be seen dancing with Matthew 28. We nod toward the Great Commandment, but by confession or action we behave as if the the Great Commission is the church’s primary call.

Except that maybe it’s not.

Clearly the early church grew, so much so that it was said they turned the world upside down. But that was the result of men and women driven by love, not growth. The world was impacted by Christians loving their neighbors in times of plague, supporting women who had faced oppression, and opening their homes and feeding the poor. The gospel emerged from their lips out of compassion, compelled by love, not growth. With John 13 as their partner neighbors become those to be loved, not those merely to be reached. When love, not growth, defines the church, abusive pastors are not tolerated. When love compels us, the church looks for ways to serve rather than to attract. The Great Commission, it could be argued, is meant to serve the Great Commandment, not, as often is the case, the other way around.

Sometimes we fold into our church vision some emphasis upon love all the while our hearts are still fixed on growth. Claiming to pursue both can be more symbolic than real. Being a spiritually healthy, worshiping, and loving community can become no more than another church growth strategy. It’s hard to shake, this idea that growth really is primary.

You’re so vain.
I bet you think the church is about you.

We have allowed this to be, and it has distorted our sense of what the church is. I’m not sure it is possible, but I do dream of what a stunning transformation might come upon the church if, in a moment of clarity, we would begin to dance once again with the right partner.