At this point many of his disciples turned away and deserted him. Then Jesus turned to the Twelve and asked, “Are you also going to leave?” –John 6:66-67

Hopes and Dreams

Every single person is battling with their inner idols; we have goals, hopes, dreams, and measurements that we are trying to live up to. We come with ideas in our minds about what the perfect version of ourselves looks like, and we’re trying to bring that into reality.

What happens when we inevitably fail?

A few years ago, as Harbour was just beginning this journey, more than one individual made it absolutely clear to me that they were not missionaries. They did not have the gift of evangelism, and that sharing their faith was something that they had not, and were unlikely to do. It has been really rewarding to watch the slow, subtle shift in hearts as that posture has changed to an everyday perspective on mission and community.

The heart of that proclamation is a misunderstanding of the metrics. Like many others, I come from a world that would measure how many people, how many prayers, how many baptisms. Being completely frank, it is a hard drug to give up. There is something tangible in those numbers that I can see, touch, feel. These are understood metrics that fall into the age-old sales funnel, where we present to as many people as possible, and expect a fraction of those to move further, and another fraction to finally make a commitment. It is about hustle.

The problem is, I’m the god of those metrics.

When it comes to Microchurches, what we measure matters. How we determine success defines the entire story. For many, I suspect those metrics are crushing the calling of God before it ever has a chance to germinate.

We forget that not even Jesus would live up to our modern metrics.

The Failures and Successes of Jesus

At the height of his public ministry, Jesus walked on water, gathered crowds into the tens of thousands, and performed countless miracles. He’s ready to release his book, take this tour regional, and continue the upward momentum. Yet he does something that should cause us to pause – he candidly calls out the hypocrisy in the heart of the followers, and redefines reality for the entire crowd.

They were never there for Jesus – they were there for what he could do for them.

Compare this to numerous other stories in the Gospels. The bleeding woman, who reaches out and touches the hem of Jesus’ cloak and finds healing. She does not slink away in shame, but comes before Jesus to receive the full healing: not just physical, but relational, spiritual, and emotional. Her humility and trust in Jesus brings her healing.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus in the dark of night seeking answers for the deepest questions of his heart. A powerful religious ruler in his own right, he sees the power of Jesus’ relationship with the Father and knows that he is missing something critical. That night, in Jesus’ powerful, poignant answers something begins to shift in Nicodemus. We do not know where his journey ends, as he keeps a foot in the religious world, but we do know he buried Jesus after his crucifixion.

The rich young ruler comes before Jesus to secure his place into heaven, yet leaves sad because he will not do what Jesus is asking. He comes with all of the gusto of a religious zealot, and leaves a broken, unfulfilled man. His greed keeps him from following.

Zacchaeus climbs a tree to look over the crowds and get a glimpse of Jesus. This traitor has no business following a holy man, yet something in his heart peaked that day. Jesus spots a grown man dangling from a tree and invites himself over for dinner, and everything changes. The greed that he clung so tightly to is now released into a Godly show of generosity and reconciliation.

The day Jesus redefines reality for the crowd, the multitude–thousands of people–walk away from Jesus. The sheer volume of feet walking away must have been disheartening. I often put Jesus on a pedestal, as though he is a man of stone and icy purpose, but we see elsewhere in Scripture that he struggles with loneliness and abandonment like the rest of us. That day must have been crushing, which only adds weight to the moment when he turns to his disciples and asks them if they are going to leave too.

So what do we measure?

Jesus’ overarching metric was one of obedience. As he sobbed uncontrollably in the garden of Gethsemane, his tears crystalised the pathway for all missionaries of the future.

Not my will, but yours be done.

If we measure ourselves by the traditional metrics: butts, budgets, and baptisms then I’d suggest many will stop before they even begin their first step. What if this never grows? What if I’m a failure? What if this fizzles out after a few months, or a few years?

What if?

What if God calls you to one person, for one season, to see change. What if He has a specific plan that He’s placed you there for, to affect a small group of people? What if God doesn’t care about the long term profitability of your calling?

What if it is only about listening well, and saying, “Not my will, but yours be done”?

Recognize the Idols

For the crowds that followed Jesus, they had built an idol out of the miracles that Jesus was capable of producing. They wanted more, and they were happy to consume the next meal, the next healing, the next prophecy ad infinitum. They stood in the place of ravenous consumers, and Jesus made a simple invitation: don’t consume what I do, consume who I am.

The thought was abhorrent to them. The idea so foreign that they couldn’t even entertain the idea. They walked, taking their idols home with them.

We all have idols we lug around with us. We carry the rucksack bag over our shoulders, hiding it from the crowds and hoping that no one else will point our idols out. Jesus invites us into a reality where we speak about one another’s idols clearly, and invite each other to lay them down at the foot of the cross.

Without that freedom, we’re constantly encumbered from obedience. We’re performing for others around us, striving to meet our goals, or the expectation of others. We are filled with lives of shame, and the fears that the Accusers fans consume us like a wildfire. We are paralyzed from following the mission of God by the weight of living up to the expectations of the world.

Everything Changes

For microchurches, coming to this realization changes everything. Suddenly, starting a new church with a small group of people is not about endlessly multiplying. Success is not determined by how many groups you form. It is about your faithfulness to the calling God has laid on your life.

There are natural seasons to microchurches, some that will explode and the ministry will grow exponentially, and others that will exist for a season and time, and then turn a corner to go in a different direction. Neither is necessarily better than the other, as both are measured not by the numbers, but by the faithfulness.

The nimble nature of faithfulness allows the people of God to be responsive in the moment to where the Spirit is leading, and hold loosely to the strategies of the moment. We are able to follow in the footsteps of Jesus and invite people into deeper relationship with Him, without feeling like we need to be the sole providers of the next miraculous meal.

Let yourself be honest, and allow God to be the one who defines your reality. You may have a single friend that needs to experience what the family of God looks like: that is Church. You may have a niche group of pokemon loving BMXers who have yet to experience the love of Christ: that is Church. You may be called to experiment in the downtown core among the homeless, the prostitutes, the drug users and dealers: that is Church.

You will fail. You will learn. You will have setbacks, moments of despair. That is Church.

It is the obedience to say “Not my will, but yours be done” that drives us forward. Let that be our metric.